


Cigarette Kiss

by dontcareajot



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2470070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts in Paris. Miles starts to notice some things about his supposedly platonic friend Alex- some things he probably shouldn't be noticing, especially since Alex has Alexa waiting on him back home. Unfortunately Miles has never been very good at impulse control, Alex doesn't do anything to deter him, and their relationship quickly becomes less than platonic, leaving them to figure out what exactly they mean to each other, and what exactly will happen when it's time to leave Paris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic isn't _entirely_ canonical, but it's not entirely AU either. And a good chunk of it is just an excuse for fluff and smut in Paris. Sorry not sorry.

It starts in Paris because of course it does.

They aren't, technically, sharing a room- but they might as well be. Alex only ever returns to his own for a change of clothes. He says it's because Miles' room has got a better view which... is true, actually, but Miles suspects that's not the _only_ reason. The first night Alex did try and stay in his own room, but he came knocking on Miles' door at three in the morning and he's been hanging around ever since. Miles doesn't know if bad dreams are to blame or if Alex just doesn't like being alone, but either way the prolonged proximity is doing funny things to Miles' head.

The thing is, Alex has been his best mate for a while but they've never spent a week solid in each others company, much less practically living on top of one another. Alex is there when Miles wakes up now, either still fitfully asleep on the loveseat by the window or sitting at the foot of the bed, there to greet Miles with a soft, sleepy smile and a murmured good morning. He's there when Miles goes to sleep, too. Sometimes Alex falls asleep first but sometimes they trade whispers in the dark until one of them dozes off. Miles now knows that Alex's voice makes a lovely lullaby which is, quite frankly, information he could've done without.

Alex is there at all other times of the day, of course. If they aren't in the studio (which, granted, is rare) then Alex can usually be found reading in the armchair or sitting on the floor watching telly. Most nights they order takeout or room service and eat it on the bed, less careful than they should be about making a mess. One night they get drunk and giggly and the next morning Miles can't even remember what was so funny, just the way Alex looked when he was laughing and how badly he wanted to kiss him.

The rest of their time is spent in the studio. That's not any better. The studio is where Alex shines. Watching him fucking kill it on the guitar, or sing his heart out, or fret needlessly over a lyric or a line of melody, or get completely lost in the music when it's played back to him, is practically a new form of torture. Miles catches himself in a naughty fantasy more than once and has to shake himself out of it.

He's definitely blaming his sudden attraction to one Alex Turner all on the proximity though. On how much time they've been spending together- to the exclusion of nearly everyone else. Who _wouldn't_ start entertaining a few fantasies here and there, right?

All this taken into account, it's probably a bad idea to get drunk together again but Saturday night finds the two of them at a pub nonetheless. At the start of the evening Miles determines to have a single pint and leave it at that but then he starts noticing the way Alex's trousers fit rather sinfully well, and how he's got his top buttons undone to show a bit of collarbone, and how his lips looks ridiculously soft, and suddenly one beer doesn't seem like nearly enough. By the time they're stumbling back to the hotel he's lost track of how many he's had.

Miles fumbles with the keycard a bit before finally getting the door open. He collapses straight onto the bed and, to his mild surprise, Alex settles right next to him, close enough that their shoulders are pressed together. They both stare up at the ceiling in silence but after the noise of the pub and the laughter on the way back the silence seems wrong. Miles opens his mouth to break it, to comment on how much fun he's had or how great Paris is or the _bloody fucking weather_ , anything but what actually comes out of his mouth.

“Why didn't you bring that bird back?”

He regrets it as soon as he's said it because, honest to god, he doesn't actually want to know. In fact, there's a long list of things he'd rather do than talk about women with Alex, and that list includes jumping into a volcano. But since it's already out there he tries to play it off, shrugging when Alex doesn't immediately answer. “Just wondering, you know. She had her hands all over you.”

He gives it a full three seconds before he turns to look at Alex for a reaction. Alex is still gazing up at the ceiling, brow furrowed.

“Dunno,” he says after a bit. “Didn't wanna.”

Miles snorts. “Looked like you were plenty into it at the pub, mate. I figured I wouldn't see you until morning.”

Alex shrugs. “I know me and Alexa have an understanding about, like- being abroad, and all, but I'm still not much of one for sex with strangers. 's always better if you're like... if you're-” He gestures. Miles has no idea what he's getting at, honestly, but he nods along anyway.

He's more caught up in how Alex's hair, a bit long and shaggy now, is mussed and messy in a way that shouldn't be sexy but is, and how he's got one hand resting on his own chest, idly toying with a button. Miles is so drunk he doesn't even fight it, just lets himself imagine what Alex would do if he leaned over and kissed that spot just below his jaw or, better yet, if he left a mark there.

He rolls over onto his side, facing Alex, who blinks at him and just... smiles. It's not a smile a lot of people get to see. It's his private smile. His real one.

Miles can't help himself. He's blissfully drunk and he just wants to touch. So he reaches out, ever so slowly, until his fingertips come to rest on the curve of Alex's cheekbones. Alex does nothing to stop him, doesn't even question it. His eyelids flutter once, so quick Miles' might've overlooked it were he not paying so much attention, and then he's meeting Miles' gaze with a startling intensity that was missing just a moment ago.

None of this feels real, Miles thinks as he draws his fingertips down, along the line of Alex's jaw, and then down further. Down the length of his neck, across his collarbone, raising goosebumps as he goes. He stops where the buttons on Alex's shirt begin.

Alex doesn't even seem to be breathing.

“Al?” Miles whispers, looking for some guidance. A distant part of him is screaming at him to play it all off as a joke- that this is his last chance to pretend it's nothing and back away. But a much more present part of him doesn't want to stop. Alex's skin is smooth and soft and warm beneath his fingers and Miles wants more than anything to kiss him right now.

Alex doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods, just a slight bob of his head, but it's enough.

Miles closes the distance between them in what must be record time. Alex meets his urgency with a fervor of his own, bringing his hands up to grasp at Miles' hair. The noise he makes when Miles bites at his bottom lip is sinful. He opens up after that, deepening the kiss of his own volition and putting his tongue to good use. They're drunk so it's sloppy and hurried but still probably the best damn kiss Miles has ever had, solely because it's Alex. Miles has really only wanted to kiss Alex for about a week but it feels like he's been waiting a lifetime.

When Alex pulls away for air, Miles doesn't give either of them time to question it or change their minds. He moves his attentions to Alex's neck- and that spot just under his jaw he'd been thinking about earlier. To his delight, biting down there gently has Alex gasping and writhing.

“Mi,” he breathes, fingers tightening in Miles' hair. It sounds a lot like a plea.

In answer, Miles straddles him and sets to work on his buttons. He's not disappointed to find Alex more than half-hard in his trousers. It is a little startling, though, how much Miles' mouth waters at the thought of getting his hands on him.

Miles doesn't bother discarding Alex's shirt, just lays it open, exposing his chest and stomach, and leans down to close his mouth over one of his nipples. Alex moans then, his first proper one of the evening, and arches into it. The sound makes Miles positively dizzy and has him palming himself through his own trousers, desperate for friction. God, but Alex is a thing of beauty. How they've been friends all this time without Miles realizing is beyond him. Looking at Alex now, flushed and wanting, it's amazing that there's anyone on the planet who _doesn't_ want to lay him out and have their way with him.

Alex tugs on Miles' hair again, drawing him up. At first Miles is confused but then Alex slides his hands up Miles' inner thighs, then up higher until they're resting at the button of his trousers, and Miles realizes he's asking permission.

“God, yes, fucking do it,” he urges, which has Alex grinning up at him.

From there it's all a bit hazy. Miles will later remember the feel of Alex's callused hands on his cock and a sort of desperate, impatient feeling throughout. Alex finishes him off in what would be an embarrassingly short time under different circumstances but Miles is a) too drunk and b) too incredibly turned on to care much in the heat of the moment. And it's not like Alex fares much better. Miles barely has time to get his mouth on him before he's whispering a warning and tugging Miles off by his hair.

Alex kisses him again, afterward. Miles definitely remembers that part.

The next morning, Miles wakes up and immediately has the notion that something is wrong. Or, not wrong, necessarily, but different. Through the haze of his hangover it takes him a moment to figure out that that something is the fact that there's a warm weight on the other side of the bed and he's got someone else's scent in his nose.

He knows it's Alex, of course, before he even opens his eyes, because he hasn't so much as dreamed of bringing anyone else home since this whole Paris adventure began, but the events of the previous night don't come back to him until he sees the state of Alex's hair and the angry looking mark in the shape of teeth on the side of his neck.

Alex is, thankfully, still asleep, so he misses the look of abject horror on Miles' face.

It's not so much horror at what's already happened as it is horror at what's surely to come.

Because Alex has Alexa. And sure they have this... arrangement and Alex is technically allowed to sleep with whomever he pleases if he and Alexa aren't in the same country but Miles highly doubts he's who Alexa- or even Alex- had in mind when they reached that agreement. Has Alex even been with a bloke before? Miles has no idea. Sure, Miles remembers his handjob technique as being pretty up to par but that's not exactly rocket science. Any straight bloke could probably pull off a decent handie-

And all of that is so beside the point. The point is, this could ruin their friendship. Probably will, in fact.

Miles can see it now. The speech he's likely to receive. It'll be all, _that can't happen again_ , and, _drunken mistake_ , and, _I don't feel that way about you_. And Miles will inevitably play along. He'll agree that it was just a mistake, he'll say his feelings for Alex are entirely platonic, because it's the only chance he'll stand at resuming a normal friendship with him. And their friendship definitely isn't worth risking for sex.

_Maybe_ , Miles thinks optimistically as he dresses quickly and quietly, careful not to wake his sleeping friend, _it's all out of my system now. Maybe everything will be fine._

He's too scared to stick around and find out. He doesn't even bother with a shower, as disgusting as it is, just heads straight out of the hotel and around the corner to the nearest breakfast joint. He orders a muffin and a tea and takes his sweet time eating, drawing it out until it's time to head to the studio.

His hands are actually shaking as he pulls the door open so he stuffs them in his pockets and tries to play it cool. It turns out his nerves were premature anyway as Alex isn't even there yet. Miles tries not to read into it- Alex is late on a pretty regular basis, after all- but he still finds himself wondering if Alex is avoiding him, if he'll show up at all or if, in addition to their friendship, last night made things so awkward they won't even be able to finish the record.

Alex does show, though, about an hour after he was meant to be there, with his hair still damp from the shower. He says his alarm didn't go off. He doesn't so much as mention Miles' absence from the hotel this morning, thank god. Miles' stomach nearly bottoms out when Alex looks at him, and then again when he notices that Alex has done absolutely nothing to hide or disguise the hickey Miles left on him.

Of course James notices as well and has to tease him about it. It's all Miles can do to keep a straight face. What's weird is how Alex practically _lights up_ when the blemish is pointed out. He doesn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. Instead, he beams, claims he doesn't remember who gave it to him and jokes that it was “that kind of night”.

Miles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Does he really not remember? And if he doesn't, is that good or bad? What if he does remember but this is his way of offering them both an out? Which option would be worse? Either one leaves Miles feeling like shit. If Alex was so drunk last night he really doesn't remember a thing then Miles is definitely a terrible friend for taking advantage. And if he is just saying that to spare them both some embarrassment then that means Alex regrets it in which case, yeah, Miles is still a piece of shit for acting on his desire.

Miles watches him closely throughout the day to try and glean the truth but it's pointless. Alex isn't acting any different, he doesn't drop hints either way. Although he's acting so normal that Miles is tempted to believe he really doesn't remember.

Until near the end of the work day, anyway, when Alex makes it clear he very much remembers.

There's not much left for Miles or Alex to do for the day, they're mostly just hanging around in case they need to be consulted on something or other, so Miles is sat on the couch in the corner, staring off into space and worrying his lip between his teeth. Trying not to look at Alex, if he's being honest with himself. Turns out he needn't have bothered. Alex settles right next to him. It's a big couch, there's room for at least four people, but Alex sits so close their thighs are pressed together. He slings an arm over Miles' shoulders so his hand rests at the curve of his neck, his fingertips slipping just under the collar of Miles' shirt.

Alex is warm. Miles feels every point of contact between them keenly. He can't help but lean into Alex, craving his touch and, at least just as much if not more so, craving comfort. Personal space has never been in their friendship lexicon so no one bats an eye at them, not even when Alex leans close to whisper to him, his breath ghosting over the shell of Miles' ear and making him shiver.

“Do you regret it?” Alex asks.

The question surprises him. He has an intense urge to flee the room, actually, and avoid this conversation altogether (because surely this is the _it can't happen_ again speech he'd been dreading this morning). Alex must sense it because he pulls Miles even closer unconsciously, until Miles might as well be sitting in his lap. The proximity is _not_ helping him think straight.

“It depends,” he admits. His first instinct is always to be honest when it comes to Alex. He looks at his friend as he says it, which is a mistake. Alex is gorgeous, is the problem, and they're so close it wouldn't be any effort at all to close the distance and kiss him. Miles definitely remembers how wonderful it was to kiss him. And, god, if Miles ever got Alex's soft, beautiful lips round him he could die happy. He can picture it a little too well, how Alex would look on his knees, gazing up at him, trying to take him as deep as he can, one of his huge hands wrapped round what he can't reach with his mouth.

“Well,” Alex says abruptly, no longer whispering, bringing Miles back into the real world where a friendly blowjob is probably pretty unlikely to occur. “Do you fancy a smoke break, Miles?”

Miles nods before he can think better of it, well aware that he's almost certainly just agreed to have that talk he doesn't want to have. Alex pulls him up by his wrist and leads him from the room. Instead of heading for the exit, though, he makes a sharp turn, drawing the two of them into the loo and locking the door.

He still doesn't let go of Miles' wrist.

“Al?” Miles asks when it becomes apparent Alex isn't going to start the conversation off. “Did you want to talk or did you have to piss, because if it's the second one then I don't see why I had to accompany you.”

“I do want to talk,” Alex says in his usual slow drawl. His cheeks have gone the slightest bit pink, though. “We need to talk, I think. But first...”

He gives Miles plenty of time to protest. He brings his free hand up and places it on the back of Miles' neck, then he closes the distance between them, pausing just before the kiss. Miles doesn't take any of the opportunities given to him to call it off even though he definitely should. By the time their lips meet his heart is practically beating out of his chest and he moans into it. Can't help it. After last night he never thought he'd get to kiss Alex again.

Alex takes the moan as the encouragement that it is and, without breaking the kiss, backs Miles up until he's against the wall. He slides his thigh between Miles', eliciting another moan.

Miles doesn't think he's ever gotten so turned on so quickly in his life but his conscience is still nagging at him. He breaks the kiss but that doesn't deter Alex, who moves his attentions elsewhere. He kisses down the line of Miles' jaw, and then down his neck. Miles means to stop him, to push him away just long enough to say what needs to be said, but he finds his hands fisted in Alex's shirt instead, drawing him closer. Keeping him close.

Still, he manages to ask, “What about Alexa?” It comes out entirely too breathy, his voice betraying him.

If he thought bringing her up might throw a wrench into the proceedings he's surprised to find that it doesn't. Not really. Alex does pull back, but only to give him a look like he's incredibly daft. Then he says, slowly, as if he's explaining something simple to a child, “We're in Paris.”

Miles should follow up with something like, _are you sure it's okay with her_ , but he's a bit scared of the answer. Instead what comes out is, “Does that mean you're going to blow me? 's only polite to return the favor, mate.”

Alex laughs, low and rough. “God, yeah,” he breathes. “Been dying to, Mi.”

“Really?”

Alex nods, bites his lip. “Really. Wanted to last night. I'd have done it in the shower this morning if you'd stuck around. Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? Nearly jumped you in front of everyone, I did.”

All of Miles' blood is rapidly being relocated from his brain. Instead of trying to come up with a response, he pulls Alex into him again, crushing their mouths together. But Alex only indulges him for a moment before he's pulling back and dropping to his knees. He looks just as good there as Miles imagined, looking up at Miles through his lashes, his hair tousled and cheeks pinked, his full, glistening lips parted as his breathing comes quicker.

“They're waiting on us out there,” Alex reminds him, voice already rough, giving away just what this is doing to him. Miles has been with a few blokes but none who were so turned on just at the idea of blowing him. It's incredible. It's overwhelming. “How long do you reckon before they get suspicious?”

Miles laces his fingers together behind his head, emboldened by Alex's very clear willingness. It's a rush, finding out his attraction isn't one sided. “Best get on with it then,” he urges, smirking down at his friend.

Alex pops the button on Miles' trousers and tugs them down just far enough to get his cock out. Miles is already hard in his hand but, time limit or not, Alex can't seem to resist a bit of teasing. He pauses just before his lips make contact, breath ghosting over the tip of Miles' cock and driving him mad. He can't help the desperate whine that escapes him. “C'mon, Al,” he practically begs, pushing his hips forward insistently. He fleetingly remembers his thoughts this morning, about whether or not Alex has ever been with another bloke, but when Alex finally takes pity on him and starts to suck him in earnest that question is quickly put to rest. He sucks cock like a pro- and bloody well enjoys it too, if the way he moans is any indication.

Miles reaches down to grab Alex's hair, to hold it out of his face. Alex looks up at him then, meets his eyes, and Miles' knees nearly give out. He's so fucking gorgeous, Alex is. The way his cheeks hollow around Miles' cock is mesmerizing. He's putting his hands to use, too, with one on Miles' hip, squeezing hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of fingerprints, and the other wrapped entirely around the base of his cock. Just watching him, how fucking enthusiastic he is, how gorgeous, has Miles on the edge in minutes.

It's not long before Miles is tugging on Alex's hair, trying to warn him, but Alex doesn't pull off. No, instead, he _swallows_. 

“Fuck,” Miles breathes, blinking down at him in awe. He feels boneless, wobbly-kneed, but mostly he feels really damn lucky.

Alex looks dazed, himself. He licks his lips, eyes half-lidded. Miles sinks the floor and pulls Alex to him so that Alex is straddling him. He's still painfully hard, Miles can see the outline of his cock through his trousers. He quickly undoes the button and zip and gets a hand on him. Alex moans so loudly at the contact that Miles is momentarily worried someone might hear them. Then he decides he doesn't care. Not when Alex is muttering curses under his breath and coming apart above him.

Alex drops his head to Miles' shoulder, bites at him through the fabric of his shirt, moans like he can't help it, like Miles is pulling the noises from him with every flick of his wrist and swipe of his thumb. Miles can't help but wonder, _is it me or is he always like this?_

It only takes a few quick, rough pulls to finish Alex off. He cries Miles name as he falls over the edge and it's possibly the best sound Miles has ever heard.

Alex slumps forward, resting his forehead on Miles' shoulder while he collects himself. Miles reaches blindly above his own head until his hand comes into contact with the paper towel dispenser. He takes a couple and uses them to clean off his hand, at which point Alex starts giggling a bit deliriously.

He sits back, tucking himself back into his trousers as he says, “We just had a quickie in the loo.” Then again, “ _We_ just had a _quickie_ in a _bathroom_ , Miles.” His voice is rough. Wrecked in a way Miles' couldn't have imagined he'd ever get to hear.

“You don't have to tell me, Alex. I was there.”

That makes him laugh again. Alex isn't as stoic as he makes himself out to be but his laughter, in Miles' mind, is still something rare and precious and it always makes him sort of proud when he manages to coax one out, however it happens.

“Did you ever think...” Alex begins, but he must think better of it. He shakes his head at himself, still smiling crookedly, and shakily gets to his feet. “I'll head out first. Follow in a few, yeah?”

Miles nods. Alex pauses to try and flatten his hair in the mirror but it's hopeless. Besides, it's the flush in his cheeks and the smell of sex that'll give him away if anything. And Miles is sure he's not in any better shape. He feels loose and satisfied and barely capable of forming complex thought.

Well, the day certainly went an entirely different direction that he'd thought it would. But in the back of his mind he knows the two of them still need to talk. To clarify what exactly this is if nothing else. It's not a conversation he's looking forward to but he knows it's necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

Miles wakes Monday morning with a headache and a pretty intense feeling of dread.

The headache he can safely attribute to a slight hangover but the dread... Well, that's entirely Alex's fault.

Miles hasn't actually seen Alex since they left the studio yesterday, and he hasn't spoken to him since their little adventure in the loo. The car ride back to the hotel was spent in silence. Miles tried not to let it get to him. Alex gets like that sometimes- withdrawn, quiet. And _maybe_ it had to do with what happened between them but Miles knows better than to assume anything. Alex could have been thinking really damn hard about the weather, or about what he was going to wear tomorrow, or perhaps he had some new lyrics floating around in his brain that he was just itching to write down. It's always been hard to tell with him.

Regardless, Miles couldn't help but feel a bit awkward. He had to fight his usual impulse to yap until the awkwardness disappeared. If Alex noticed his fidgeting, or the tense atmosphere, he didn't point it out or do anything to alleviate it. And when they reached the hotel he disappeared into his own room without a word. Probably for the best, since Miles has no idea how to start off a conversation about adding a few benefits to their friendship.

Returning to his room sans Alex had the simultaneous effect of comforting Miles and making him even more worried. Because there were traces of Alex everywhere, as if they really were living together. He had a jacket tossed onto the couch, a stack of books beside the armchair, a half-empty beer bottle on the window sill, the whole place smelled like him, and the thought came to Miles unbidden- what will I do without him?

He's always been a bit guilty of over-dramatizing things. It's a flaw he's perfectly aware of, so he tried to squash those thoughts before they really became a nuisance. He had little success. Which is when the mini-bar came in handy. Miles got just drunk enough to consider knocking on Alex's door and flat out asking for a shag. Then he thought better of it, of course. 

Miles has never been this afraid of rejection before. Normally he'd demand bluntness and a straight-foward attitude. If Alex were anyone else, any of his other friends, Miles would tell him what he wanted and leave it in Alex's hands to either accept or reject, and either way Miles would go on with his life, none the worse for wear. But this is _Alex_. Miles would survive the rejection, he could go on being just friends if that's what Alex wanted, but it would sting like hell. Especially after getting a taste of what sex with Alex could be like. 

Miles stares blankly at the ceiling for a while after he wakes up, willing his headache to go away and replaying the way Alex looked on his knees, sucking him off, over and over again in his head. And the way he looked after, too, lips pink and cheeks flushed. He'd been so goddamn into it, Al had. That wasn't an act, Miles is sure of it. So why would Alex be avoiding him now? To spare them both the _that can't happen again_ speech? But it's happened twice now. Seems to Miles that if Alex intended to give that speech then he'd have done it after the first time.

Miles assumes Alex is still in his own room since he's not sleeping soundly on the loveseat by the window like usual. His absence throws Miles off, rattles him. Alex is supposed to be there to tell him good morning. Miles has grown rather fond of that ritual.

He finally forces himself out of bed about an hour after he was meant to get up. He decides to take his sweet time getting to the studio, mostly to put off the inevitable awkwardness but also a little bit out of spite. Alex is always late, now he'll have to wait on Miles for a change.

-

Conversation with Alex at the studio is, predictably, stilted. Alex won't quite meet Miles' eye. Even James notices and pulls Miles aside to ask if anything is wrong, to which Miles lies outright and claims everything is just dandy. Probably best not to let James know Alex blew him in the toilets. Seems like that would just make everything even more awkward.

At the end of the day, Alex very nearly sneaks off and gets his own taxi back to the hotel. But Miles doesn't let him. He catches him at it and climbs in without asking. Alex doesn't protest his presence but he does stare pointedly out the window, refusing to acknowledge him.

Miles likes to think he can read Alex pretty well- even when Alex is trying damn hard to hide whatever's going on in his head- and he's pretty sure Alex's silence isn't an angry one. It occurs to Miles then that maybe Alex is just as lost as he is. Sure, he'd seemed confident yesterday, initiating things like that, but he's always been great at second guessing himself and it's not like he's ever been in this situation before either. At least, not to Miles' knowledge.

Miles clears his throat. It startles Alex into looking at him.

“Er,” Miles begins, ever eloquent. “Yesterday... That did happen, right? That weren't me imagination?”

Alex blinks, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Look, mate, give me something. A nod- _something_.”

“It... It happened,” Alex practically whispers, casting a wary glance at the taxi driver.

“Right. Thought so.” Pause. “And yesterday, you did say summat about a talk, yeah? Seems like I remember something along those lines.”

“I did,” Alex grudgingly agrees.

“And when, exactly, were you planning on having this talk?”

“Well not _now_. Not with a fucking _audience_.”

“I dunno if you've noticed but we've got two perfectly private hotel rooms booked.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “You can stop being a bloody smartarse, Miles.”

“Well I can't read your fucking mind, Al. Some communication would be nice. That's all I'm saying.”

Alex doesn't deign to reply. He goes back to staring out the window, watching the trees and buildings pass in a blur, this time with a distinct pout.

It would seem Miles' plea for communication doesn't fall on deaf ears though. When they initially arrive at the hotel Alex disappears off into his own room again but he knocks at Miles' door not long after and when Miles opens it, it's to find Alex changed into a ratty tee and a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms, presenting Miles with an unlit cigarette- a peace offering of sorts.

Miles leads them wordlessly out onto the balcony. It's a cool, clear evening. Dusk is just starting to give way to full night. In the distance, the horizon is still tinged pink. Miles isn't fortunate enough to have a view of the Eiffel but the piece of the city laid out before him is still gorgeous. He and Alex pause by mutual unspoken agreement to admire it for a moment before Alex produces a lighter and does the honors.

Miles takes a long drag of his cigarette, relishing it. Alex leans against the railing beside him and does the same. Miles watches him, can't help it. Alex is the reason people take up smoking. He makes it look damn good.

“You're staring,” Alex points out, smirking.

“Was not,” Miles argues, mostly on instinct. “You can't prove anything.”

“'s alright. I know I'm irresistible.”

Miles scoffs. “And so humble, too.”

“Well, you know, I do have an example to set and all that.”

“What, for your legions of adoring fans? The only example you've been setting for them lately is how not to dress, mate.”

Alex makes an offended noise and leans over to elbow Miles in the ribs but Miles dodges expertly.

“You'd think,” he goes on. “That someone dating a fashion model might be a little more fashionable himself, eh?”

Alex's small smile quickly fades. “She doesn't dress me,” he says, suddenly serious. “And I didn't come out here to talk about her.”

“Er. I were only joking, love, no need to look so glum now.”

Alex shrugs, takes another long drag of his cigarette. He holds the smoke in his lungs, exhales slowly. Then he says, “How long've we got left in Paris? Two weeks innit?”

“Twelve days.”

“Twelve days,” Alex parrots. “Close enough.”

He goes quiet again. Miles thinks up and discards a million choice phrases. He decides to wait Alex out. He knows what Alex is doing- trying to formulate the exact right thing to say- and Miles is curious to see what he'll come up with.

Evidently he's not coming up with anything great because eventually he makes a frustrated sound and shakes his head at himself. “Mate, I know you want to talk about this, but what's there to talk about really? I made a complete fucking fool of meself yesterday- throwing meself at you like that. We can leave it there if you like.”

Miles blinks. Alex has been avoiding him because he's _embarrassed_?

“Leave it-? Al, I don't even-”

“Don't,” Alex interrupts, grimacing. “I already know, alright? You were drunk that first night and yesterday- I didn't really give you much choice, did I? I mean, I just... I wanted to... Fuck, Miles, I'm sorry if I've fucked everything up.”

Miles reaches out to him on instinct. His free hand finds Alex's hip, thumb falling on the sliver of exposed skin between top and trousers. Alex looks down at his hand like it's a foreign thing but not, thankfully, like he particularly wants it to be removed. “Alex,” Miles begins. “Al, _I_ kissed _you_ that first night, remember? Sure, I was pissed, but not so pissed I didn't know who you were. I knew _exactly_ who you were, and I wanted to kiss you. So I did. And yesterday, I mean, I don't know what the hell I did to convince you I didn't want you. Thought I made it pretty clear how into it I was.”

Alex takes one last drag and drops his cigarette onto the concrete. “So,” he says. “You wanted to kiss me. I weren't taking advantage.”

Miles follows Alex's example, crushing his own cigarette under his heel. He dares to step closer. Alex is radiating warmth. “No,” Miles says, his eyes dropping to Alex's lips, betraying the direction of his thoughts without his consent. “Definitely not taking advantage. You're right fit, Al, don't pretend you don't know it.”

Alex licks his lips, his own eyes flickering to Miles' mouth and back up. “You're pretty fit yourself, Kane.”

That begs the questions _how long have you thought so_ and _why have you never made a move_? But those are questions better left unanswered, probably. At least for the time being. Instead, Miles tilts his chin up, bringing them even closer, and says, softly, “Glad you think so.”

Alex hums, the beginnings of another smile playing around the corners of his mouth. He says, just as softly, “So, we both agree we're fit, we both like fooling around, and we've got twelve days left in Paris.”

“Seems that way, yes.”

“What do you say then, Miles, to putting those twelve days to good use?”

Miles doesn't even hesitate before he agrees, his own smile flickering to life. Twelve days of no-strings-attached sex, then they go back to being plain old best mates- sounds like a dream come true. With a deadline there's no awkward breakup, no strange transition. It'll be a smooth segue back into normality when they return to London. And until then, Miles gets to work this infatuation out of his system.

“I say, why not start now?”

Alex practically melts into it when Miles closes the distance between them. This kiss isn't sloppy or hurried like the others they've shared. Miles has time to truly appreciate how soft Alex's lips are, the little noise he makes when Miles nips at his bottom one, and the way he tastes- like cigarette smoke and something else. Something sweet, something unique to Alex. Miles strokes his thumb over Alex's hipbone, cards his other hand through his soft, unruly hair. He can feel Alex relaxing under his touch, going pliant. He'd swear he can feel the fear of rejection leaving him as Miles tries to show him just how badly he wants this.

Alex is the one to deepen the kiss, pressing closer until they're flush together. His arms wind themselves around Miles' waist, his fingers find their way under his shirt, splaying over his back. He hums, not quite a moan but verging on one.

Miles slides his hands down, over Alex's sides and then around to his bum. Alex really does moan, then, when Miles slips his hands inside his trousers. And so does Miles, when he discovers that, for whatever reason, Alex chose to forgo pants today, meaning he's only in flimsy, thin pajama bottoms. 

Miles chuckles lowly, breaking the kiss. “Do you always go commando or were you hoping the conversation might go this way?”

“It were a distant hope,” Alex admits, breathless, arching into Miles' touch.

Miles squeezes his bum, laughing again. “Am I dreaming?” he wonders aloud. “Christ, Al. Never thought I'd get to have you like this.”

“Not dreaming,” Alex assures him. He plants a feather-light kiss to Miles' neck. “And you can have me any way you want.”

Well, that brings to mind several possibilities. But Miles isn't sure he's got the patience for most of them tonight.

“Bed?” Alex suggests, nodding toward the balcony door. 

But Miles shakes his head. He walks Alex backwards until he's against the wall, slips his thigh between his. Alex hisses as Miles' denim-clad thigh comes into contact with his cock, but it seems like he's making a concentrated effort to remain still.

“Not exactly p-private out here,” Alex stutters, fingers clenching and unclenching against Miles' back. “Neighbors might see. Or hear.”

“Mmhmm,” Miles agrees, kissing his way down Alex's neck. Biting down there draws a high, breathy moan out of Alex. Miles wants to mark him up. Something about leaving a hickey on _the_ Alex Turner is thrilling, even if no one would ever know it was Miles who put it there. Miles will know. That's enough.

Miles uses his hold on Alex's bum to urge him forward, to urge him to move. Even the hint of friction Miles' thigh provides has Alex trembling. He bites his lips, maybe in an effort to keep quiet. But Miles doesn't want him quiet.

“Come now, darling, no holding back.” Miles kisses him again. “I want everyone to know exactly what we're up to, how much fun we're having. Don't you?”

“Fuck, Miles,” Alex moans. His nails are proper digging in Miles' back now, leaving his own marks. “Touch me,” he pleads, obeying Miles' request and not bothering to so much as lower his voice. He doesn't wait to see if Miles will do as he asks, though. He brings one hand around to palm at Miles through his trousers. Miles is already painfully hard, he can't help the way he jerks into the touch.

Alex pops the button on Miles' trousers, then pauses, as if waiting on a protest. When no protest comes he slides the zipper down and urges him, “Off.”

Miles is quick to obey, stepping back just long enough to kick his jeans off, then closing the distance between them again with a hungry kiss, pressing them flush together once more. This time their cocks are only separated by a pair of boxers and Alex's flimsy pajama bottoms. Miles can _feel_ how hard he is.

Alex slides one hand down, over Miles' stomach, pets at the skin just below the waistband of his boxers. Miles whimpers into his mouth, silently begging him to go further. He does, finally, wrapping his huge, warm hand around Miles' length and freeing him from his boxers. He breaks their kiss to look down at his own hand, slowly stroking Miles' cock, using his precum as the only lubricant. It's not ideal but Miles finds he doesn't much care in the heat of the moment.

He drops his forehead to Alex's shoulder, bites at him through the fabric of his t-shirt. Alex gasps at the pain, hips rocking forward of their own volition. He reaches for his own cock with his free hand but Miles swats him away. “Top off,” he insists, tugging at the hem of Alex's shirt. “Get naked already.”

Alex glances around nervously but he does as he's told. Unfortunately, shedding his clothes requires two hands, so Miles takes over for him, stroking his own cock as he watches Alex undress. Miles wasn't lying when he called Alex fit. Every inch of him is beautiful. The sun is gone completely from the sky, now, and he looks radiant in the moonlight.

As soon as he's standing fully naked Miles moves toward him again, aching to touch him. He takes Alex's hip in one hand and both their cocks in the other, pressing them together then clumsily stroking them. His clumsiness doesn't seem to matter. Alex moans obscenely loud. His hands dance in the air for a moment, like he can't quite decide what to do with them, then settle on Miles' shoulders, gripping hard. He mutters a string of curses then says, with surprising coherency, “F-fuck, Mi, you're so fucking- ugh- so fucking gorgeous like this.”

Miles can't imagine he looks anything other than pink-cheeked, sweaty, and blissed the fuck out, but just hearing Alex call him gorgeous, whatever the context, gives him a rush. Hell, just hearing Alex talk gives him a rush, especially when he sounds like _this_ , voice deep and rough and wanting.

“You should see yourself,” he counters. “So beautiful, Al.” He picks up the pace, swipes his thumb over the head of Alex's cock, collecting precum a he goes. He leans forward to sink his teeth into the fading hickey he'd left Alex with Saturday night. Alex bucks into his fist, groaning. Miles is starting to think Alex may not mind being marked up after all.

“I want to see you come,” Miles urges, nipping at his ear. “I want to hear it. Come on, babe. I'm so close.”

Alex whimpers. He tugs on Miles' hair, pulling him into an urgent kiss. Miles can feel it, how close he is, and it only takes a few more pulls before he comes over Miles' hand with a gasp. Miles draws back to watch his face, the way he squeezes his eyes shut, the way he parts his lips. Seeing it, hearing the reverent way Alex breathes his name, is what pushes Miles over the edge. He comes with a cry, buries his face in Alex's neck and wills his knees not to give way as he rides out his orgasm.

Alex slides his arms up under Miles', supporting him as they collect themselves. “Fuck, Miles,” Alex whispers. “You make me so...”

He trails off, leaving Miles wondering. Miles doesn't push him on it.

“Bed?” Alex suggests. This time Miles agrees.

They leave the clothes on the balcony. Even though the two of them reek of sex they skip a shower. Instead, Miles climbs into bed and Alex fetches a damp flannel. He does the honors of cleaning them up. When he's finished he leans over and plants a soft kiss on Miles' cheek, smiling as he does.

“I'll take the loveseat,” he says, but it sounds like a question.

“That's awfully far away,” Miles replies, eying said loveseat distastefully.

Alex laughs, taking that for the invitation that it is. “True,” he agrees. “Guess I wouldn't mind being a bit closer.” But he settles with his back to Miles, still far enough away that they aren't touching.

Again, Miles doesn't push him on it. Wouldn't want to frighten him off, after all, even if Miles could always use a good cuddle.

“Night, Al,” Miles calls softly, reaching over to switch off the lamp.

“Goodnight, Miles,” Alex replies. Then, the barest of pauses later, “Love you. You know that, don't you?”

“Course. Love you, too.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Miles opens his eyes Tuesday morning it's to Alex sitting at the foot of the bed, fully clothed, picking at the last remnants of a croissant. 

“Time is it?” Miles asks, groggy.

Alex jumps at the sound of Miles' voice, nearly spilling his tea in the process. But, in typical Alex fashion, he tries to go on as if he wasn't startled at all. “Morning,” he greets, voice just this side of too loud. Miles must flinch because as he continues he lowers his volume. “Didn't mean to wake you, mate, sorry.”

“Is it- is it still _dark_ out?”

“No,” Alex snaps, defensive. “The sun's up. Sort of. A little bit.”

Miles groans. “You know what, I've changed me mind, I don't even want to know what time it is. It's clearly too early to be doing literally anything.”

Alex goes quiet for a second. He nudges Miles' covered foot with an elbow. “I, er. Got you tea and a pastry. Just in case you happened to wake up in time for breakfast.”

“Well, aren't you considerate?” Miles says, giving in to the fact that he probably won't be getting anymore sleep before it's time to head to the studio. He props his pillows up and, with a slightly over-dramatic put-upon sigh, sits up in bed and leans against them. “So all I've got to do is get you off and I get breakfast in bed, eh?”

“Doesn't hurt your chances,” Alex admits as he passes over Miles' so-called breakfast. To be fair, it's more than he usually has before work.

“Should've tried that years ago,” he jokes, but when he looks up Alex isn't smiling. Instead, he's staring rather intently at Miles' neck and biting his lip.

Miles raises two fingers and traces the hickey he knows is the subject of Alex's interest. It's probably a pretty impressive one if the way it aches is anything to go by. Just being reminded of it's existence is enough to gives Miles a little thrill. “Admiring your handiwork?”

Alex does smile, then. “Summat like that.” He pulls down the collar of his shirt to reveal his own marks. There are three of them, in total. One on his collarbone and two on his neck. “Yours is better.”

Miles is both weirdly proud and a bit embarrassed. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he mumbles. He sets his tea aside and gestures for Alex to come closer. Alex seems all too happy to oblige and perches beside him on the edge of the bed. Miles runs a finger over the edges of the angriest looking one- the one, he realizes, that he'd given Alex the first night and apparently renewed on the balcony.

He can feel Alex studying his face as he examines the marks. He looks like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

“Well,” he says finally. “You don't _seem_ like you're having second thoughts. Are you having second thoughts, Miles?”

Miles leans forward to kiss the angry looking mark. “No,” he says, unwavering. “Are you?”

There's only the briefest of pauses before Alex replies, “Definitely not.”

Miles kisses his neck again, then his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

“Mm,” Alex agrees. He turns his head and gives Miles a proper, albeit chaste, kiss on the lips. “But you'll tell me if you ever do, won't you?”

“Course, love, but I don't imagine I ever will. So you can stop fretting about it now.”

Alex scowls at him. With his fluffy, messy hair and big brown eyes he looks something like a disgruntled puppy. Miles very nearly giggles at him. “Fretting? I wasn't _fretting_ , I was just trying to- oh, nevermind. I was going to bring up ground rules but you're already laughing at me so I won't,” he huffs.

That only makes Miles laugh harder. “ _Ground rules_? Here we are in Paris, best mates having a tryst, and you want to set _rules_?”

“...only sensible ones.”

“Sensible ones? Such as?”

“Such as, like, telling each other if either of us has second thoughts or wants to stop. And, er- about other people, and the like.”

Miles' stomach does a little flip, though he tries not to give it away. “Other people?”

“Like, if we're at the pub and you spot someone you'd like to shag- you should be allowed, yeah? And vice versa.”

Miles' immediate thought is _he wants to shag other people_ , very quickly followed by the impulse of jealousy. Miles doesn't want to share. He can admit that to himself. But he can also recognize that as an unhealthy attitude in this situation. Technically, he's sharing even now. He may be the one fooling around with Alex at the moment but Alex still belongs to Alexa. And in eleven days he won't even be Miles' to kiss anymore.

Miles clears his throat. “Er, yeah. That's... Sure.”

As if he can sense the direction of Miles' thoughts Alex rushes to add, “I'm not saying I'm looking to shag anyone else, Mi, please don't take it that way.”

“No, I know. It's... sensible.” He forces a smile.

Alex takes his hand, strokes a thumb over his knuckles, looks anywhere but at Miles' face. “It is sensible. Because in a few days, when you're tired of me, and you see some fit bird or bloke standing over by the bar, I don't want to be the one holding you back. Alright?”

“Tired of you? Alex, don't be daft.”

Alex shrugs.

Miles sighs. “Fine. Agreed. Any other rules you'd like to add?”

“I think that's it for now.” He releases Miles' hand to take another sip of his tea. “I'll let you know if I come up with anything else.”

“You're ridiculous,” Miles laughs. “Utterly ridiculous.”

Alex winks. “You love me, though, remember?”

“Yeah,” Miles gripes. “Unfortunately.”

-

Their day in the studio goes well. Things are almost normal again. But only almost, because now Miles finds himself being exceedingly careful when he's interacting with Alex in front of others. It feels like every bit of flirtatious banter, every friendly touch, is giving them away. Even when it's stupid shit they'd have said or done to each other before, Miles still finds himself looking around, wondering if anyone has noticed anything strange.

At least Alex made some effort today to hide what Miles did to his neck. Miles is pretty sure James would have noticed that, if nothing else.

That night they go to a pub with James and drink until they're giddy. The drunker he gets, the harder Miles finds it to keep his hands to himself. Eventually Alex, evidently playing the role of the _sensible_ one, calls an end to their evening.

As soon as the hotel door shuts behind them, they're all over each other. But Miles hardly has time to give Alex a proper kiss before his phone is ringing.

Alex takes one look at the caller ID and excuses himself. He leaves the room with a promise that he'll be right back. He's gone the whole night.

Miles refuses to let it get to him. He knows Alexa has to come first. That that's how this works.

Still, it's not exactly pleasant, being reminded.

He doesn't see Alex until he arrives at the studio the next day. He looks tired, with circles under his eyes and a decided slump to his posture.

“Alright, mate?” Miles asks at a whisper.

“Yeah. Sorry about- Alexa talked me ear off last night. Kept me up.”

“'s alright,” Miles says, trying to sound like he means it. He's got no right to be upset. He's just got to keep telling himself that.

Besides, Alex makes it up to him that night. He straddles Miles in bed, no preamble, no hesitation, and teases him until he's got Miles begging. He brings him nearly to orgasm twice, but backs off at the last second, denying him release. By the end of it Miles is near to tears but it's one of the best damn orgasms of his life when Alex finally puts an end to the teasing. Miles is sweating and shaking in the aftermath- but so is Alex.

Alex fetches them a damp, cool cloth, cleans them off, and this time when they settle in bed they curl around each other as if on instinct. As if post-sex cuddling is something they've done a thousand times. 

It's the best sleep Miles has gotten in a while. That's probably mostly due to the sex beforehand but Miles attributes it at least partly to having Alex there. Even despite everything, Alex's presence still has a soothing effect.

-

They decide to go out for lunch the next day, just the two of them, and it's then that Miles asks the question he's been wanting to ask since Saturday night- “Why didn't you ever tell me you were into blokes as well as birds?”

Alex pauses, spaghetti-laden fork halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowers it back to his plate. “Pardon?”

“I just- did you not trust me? I'd never have gone to the press, surely you knew that.”

Alex shifts awkwardly in his chair. “Er, no. It wasn't that. It just... never came up.”

“ _Never came up_? You don't think when I told you _I_ were into blokes would've been a good time to mention it?”

Thankfully the diner they chose to patronize is almost entirely empty at the moment, probably due to the fact that they're having a rather late lunch. Alex still takes it upon himself to make sure no one who might overhear is in the vicinity before he replies. “It's... not something a lot of people know, right? And it weren’t relevant. It's not like I were going around shagging a ton of blokes without telling you. There's only ever been two, and that were years ago.”

Miles picks halfheartedly at his plate of chips. “Hm. Two, you say?”

“Yeah. Three, now. If we're counting you.”

“Oi.” Miles kicks at his ankle under the table. “We're definitely counting me.”

“Three, then,” Alex laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Still could've told me,” Miles grumbles. “When were the other two, then? And was it anyone I'd know?”

“Nah, mate. Doubtful. The first were a lad in sixth form. Guy named John. The other was a local bloke I met just after we started the Monkeys. Named Will, if I'm remembering right.”

Miles tilts a brow at him. “You don't remember his name?”

“Like I said, I think it were Will. But even though we, er, met up quite a few times we never did do much talking, if you catch my meaning. We had nowt in common. He were a bit daft, if I'm honest. Sometimes it was like trying to talk to a brick wall.” There's a pause as he stares off into the middle distance, remembering. Then he says, “He were in me phone as 'booty call'. His doing, not mine.”

Miles can almost picture this Will character. He was probably in a band, too. Maybe he played guitar. If he scored Alex then he had to be well fit. Probably he had long, shaggy hair and a few tattoo's scattered about his skin. Then again, maybe not. Miles has got no clue what Alex's type is as far as blokes go.

“And the other?” Miles asks, genuinely curious.

“John? I dunno. We weren't friends or anything. I just... kept noticing him noticing me, you know? Like, we'd cross paths in the hall and he'd give me a once over. It went on all year but he never would speak to me. And, like, I were curious. Long story short, I invited him over to 'study', got on me knees for him, really bloody loved it, and after that it... kept happening. For a while, anyway. We got bored of each other pretty quick, if I'm honest.”

“And after Will you never...?”

“Nah, mate. There were a few blokes what caught my eye but...” Alex trails off, shrugs. “And since I've been with Alexa it's just been the occasional bird.”

Miles hums. Once again he's tempted to broach the topic of what Alex thought of him when they first met, of how long Alex has been thinking of shagging him, but he leaves it, a little afraid of the answer. Instead, he asks again, “You're _sure_ she's alright with... this?” He gestures between the two of them. “I kind of like Alexa, I don't really want her hating me. Especially since it seems you two are in it for the long haul.”

Alex stirs his food around on his plate absentmindedly. “Er, yeah. Why wouldn't she be? It was her idea in the first place, the whole separate countries thing.”

“Just making sure, love.”

Miles can't help but be thinking ahead already, to their return to London. They've got nine days left. When Miles looks at Alex, his eyes still catch on his lips, on his jaw, on his collarbones, on the dip in his waist, on his sinful arse. It's safe to say his infatuation hasn't yet dissipated- or even lessened. It's possible that in nine days time it will have but Miles is starting to worry maybe it won't. And what then? They go back to London, Alex goes back to Alexa, and Miles is left wanting.

Miles forces himself to eat and tries not to worry about it. A lot can change in nine days, after all.

-

Wednesday morning comes far too early. Miles opens his eyes what feels like just minutes after he closed them.

Alex reaches over him to shut off the obnoxious alarm, then just sort of leaves his arm there, draped over Miles' waist. His chest is pressed to Miles' back, warm and solid. It's not like they've never shared a bed before, obviously, and they've definitely found themselves cuddling on a few occasions, but now it's different. Now Miles has those damned butterflies. Now he wants to stay right where he is, cuddled up with Alex, and never move. Or, better yet, roll over and kiss him awake. Then they could stay in bed all day getting each other off.

Sadly, Miles' damned sense of responsibility won't let him get away with that. As much as it pains him to do so he tries to get up.

Tries being the key word, of course. Alex makes a faint noise of protest and tightens his hold, palm flat against Miles' bare chest.

“Got to get to work, love,” Miles says softly. Admittedly, he's not trying that hard to get free.

“Mm,” Alex hums. He plants a feather light kiss against the back of Miles' neck. “Stay.”

Miles rolls over in his hold so they're facing each other. Alex still has his eyes closed, like he's in denial about being awake. He's bloody gorgeous in the morning. Always, truth be told, but especially in the morning. Something about the golden light streaming in through the curtains, the way his hair falls unkempt around his face, the way he seems so relaxed, his features free of worry... It all lends itself to a beautiful sight.

“We can't both be late,” Miles teases him at a whisper, of the opinion that it's far too early for normal volume. 

“Just stay,” Alex whispers back. He runs his fingertips up and down Miles' back, a soothing gesture. “Just a few more minutes, Mi.”

The thing is, Miles has trouble saying no to Alex on the best of days. And he's being so wonderfully convincing. Besides, how often is Miles going to get the opportunity to laze about in bed with his best mate- in Paris? 

Miles snuggles closer, lays his head on Alex's chest. Alex moves easily to accommodate him. They fit something like puzzles pieces, Miles can't help but think. It's absolutely tragic.

“Alright. Just a few,” he acquiesces.

-

They're two hours late to the studio. Miles blames Alex. First there was the cuddling, but even after Miles finally convinced Alex to crawl out of bed, Alex moved at the pace of a snail. He seemed entirely uninterested in getting anywhere in a hurry. And then he had the gall to take Miles by the wrists, pin him to the wall, snog him senseless, and then leave him wanting, smirking all the while. Bloody minx.

Of course, that's not the excuse Miles gives everyone else. Instead he mutters something about his alarm not going off, to which James replies, “I'm going to start giving you two a bloody wake up call,” his brow furrowed like he's annoyed. He's not _really_ annoyed, though.

They don't get a lot done. Miles' brain is a mess of worry and want and he finds it difficult to focus.

Alex notices. Miles knows he does. He can feel the way Alex is watching him, this concerned tilt to his mouth. 

Sometime in the afternoon Alex drags him outside for a smoke break. Miles is expecting a lecture, perhaps, maybe even a good fussing at. Instead Alex wraps him up in a hug and kisses him.

When they separate he doesn't go far. He presses their foreheads together, leaves his arms wound around Miles. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

Miles is overcome with fondness. He laughs a little. “I love you, you know that?”

Alex kisses him again, sweet and chaste. Kissing him for the sake of kissing him. “I know. So do you want to tell me what's wrong?”

Miles has to think about that one. If he's honest, he's not even really sure how to articulate what's wrong. What's wrong is that he's afraid of losing Alex. What's wrong is that he knows Alex doesn't share his fear. What's wrong is that he's worried he won't be able to let all this go and start being Alex's plain old best mate again.

Alex doesn't seem worried about any of that in the slightest. Then again, why would he be? He's got someone to go home to. Sure, Miles is his best mate, but he's also a- a fling, of sorts. A Paris fling.

“I- I want to go to the Eiffel,” Miles says. “Before we leave. And do all that other touristy shit.”

Alex pulls back to give him a skeptical look. He's clearly recognized the abrupt change of subject for what it is- a way out of this conversation- but he lets it go gracefully, allows Miles to avoid answering. “Alright, Mi. We can do that. It's a date, eh?”

“Yeah. It's a date.”

They smoke their cigarettes, then, in silence. Before they head back in, Miles pulls Alex to him for one more kiss. But one more turns into several more, and then he's peppering Alex's face with them until Alex is laughing and shoving him off. 

It almost feels like they're a proper couple. A part of Miles wishes they were. Scary, that.


	4. Chapter 4

It doesn't take them long to break the rule about allowing each other to shag other people.

It's Miles who breaks it, of course. They decide on going out to the pub Friday, just the two of them this time. Miles takes a seat at a table whilst Alex goes to fetch them drinks from the bar. It's no time before a girl approaches him, flirtatious smile firmly in place. Miles' jealousy rears its ugly head yet again. Only worse this time, because Alex seems in no hurry to discourage the girl's advances. She touches his arm, bats her eyelashes, and Alex keeps chatting with her. Or possibly chatting her up. Hard to say when his back is turned and Miles can't read his expression.

At first Miles stays put, grimly determined to stow away the jealousy and let Alex take the bird home if he wants. It's his attempt at proving to himself that he really doesn't care. That he's in control of his feelings, whatever they may be.

He only holds out for about a minute before he's crossing the room and sidling up next to Alex. He slips his arm around Alex's waist, the most overt show of affection he dare attempt when there are so many people around who might recognize them. “Alright, love?” he asks, addressing Alex and Alex alone.

Far from seeming put off by Miles', for lack of a better phrase, territory claiming, Alex reciprocates it. He leans into Miles' side, smiles up at him like he hung the moon. “Just fine, darling,” he replies. He goes up on his toes to gives Miles a peck on the cheek.

When Miles looks at the girl he expects a frown, a show of disappointment, but instead her flirtatious smile has simply morphed into a more innocent one. “You must be Miles,” she says. “Alex was just telling me about you.”

“Was he now?”

“Oh, yes. Evidently he's quite lucky to have you.”

Miles tilts a brow in Alex's direction. “Is that so?”

Alex abruptly cuts in. “It was, er, nice meeting you,” he says, giving her a clear cue to leave.

“You, too,” she chirps, giving them one last smile before she turns on her heel and returns to her table of friends.

Alex is blushing when Miles looks at him. He gathers up their drinks and leads the way back to the table. “You didn't have to do that,” he says as they take their seats. “I weren't interested in her.”

“Do what?” Miles asks, playing innocent. “I dunno what you're talking about, mate.”

Alex kicks at his ankle under the table. “You do know. Jealous wanker.”

Instead of kicking back, Miles simply hooks his foot around Alex's ankle. He over-dramatically bats his lashes at him. “Well, I am _quite lucky_ to have you, after all-”

“Shut up,” Alex mutters. He takes a swig of his pint. Then, “I didn't say anything that weren't true.”

“You big sap,” Miles laughs. “What else did you tell her, then?”

Alex shrugs. His cheeks are still pink. He picks idly at a napkin as he talks, looking at that rather than at Miles. “That I were here with you. That you were the only person I was interested in going home with tonight.” Pause. “I may have said something about you being brilliant.”

Miles feels that overwhelming fondness creeping up on him again. Alex is too much sometimes. “Risky, that,” he says. “Implying we're together. I dunno if you realize, but you're bloody famous.”

“She didn't know me.”

“And if she sees your picture in the papers tomorrow and starts blabbing about that time she ran into you in a pub?”

Alex shrugs again. “Like I said, I didn't say anything that weren't true. Besides, she's got no proof.”

“True.” Miles looks over his shoulder at the girl's table. She catches his eye and abruptly turns away, but it's clear she was watching them. Miles isn't sure he would want a story about he and Alex to start circulating- especially given the fact that Alex is still with Alexa. Very publicly still with Alexa. A gay rumor is one thing but a cheating rumor... Well, neither rumor would be ideal, to say the least.

Alex lays his hand atop Miles' where it rests on the table. “Why's it you seem more concerned about me image than I do, hm?”

“Just... can't help thinking about the future, is all.”

“Come on, Miles. We're in Paris, we're making an album together- we're living the dream. Stop your worrying for a bit.”

“Yeah but... You really want that reminder when we leave? If a rumor like that spreads and you start getting asked about it in interviews... Or if, god forbid, _I_ start getting asked about it in interviews...”

Alex takes his hand back. He looks, in a word, hurt, though Miles has no idea why. “Why would I mind?”

“What?”

“Being reminded, I mean. Why would I mind that?”

“Er, well. Why would you _want_ to be reminded?”

“You wouldn't?”

Miles throws his hands up. “Wait, hang on. I feel like we're on a bad road here. For clarity's sake- the hell are you saying, Al?”

Alex picks up and sets down his drink as he thinks, like he can't actually decide if he wants a sip or not. Alex has said before that a lot of people get impatient with him in conversation but Miles tries not to be one of those people. He lets Alex do his thinking, however long it takes.

“I'm saying,” Alex finally says. “If you'd like to go home and immediately forget everything that's happened, then what's the point?”

“I don't. But we've a deadline, yeah? In London things go back to normal.”

“Sure. But aren't you enjoying the now, Miles?” A bit of a spark comes back into his eye as he adds, “I know I'll be thinking about Paris for a _long_ time.”

“I am,” Miles admits. “Enjoying it, I mean. To be honest, I doubt I could forget it even if I wanted to.”

“That good, am I?” Alex teases.

“You know it, love.” Miles raises his glass in a toast. “To us, then. And to the eight days we've got left to... enjoy ourselves.”

“To us,” Alex agrees. He clinks their glasses together. A genuine smile crosses his face and Miles' heart does a little flip in his chest.

_Fuck_ , he thinks. And, _I'm in trouble_.

-

Miles wakes Saturday morning with a semi. Probably mostly due to the indecent dream he'd been having about Alex. Not that he's complaining. He isn't even all that upset about cutting the dream short. Why should he be, when he's got the real Alex just next to him, warm and beautiful and mostly naked?

They've only got an hour before they're meant to be in the studio but Miles is willing to risk being late this time. He has a feeling that the closer the deadline draws, the more risks he'll be willing to take. It seems that as time goes by his feelings only grow more intense, not less. He only grows more desperate for Alex. It's worrying. But it's also not something Miles wants to think about too much or examine too closely.

He nips playfully at Alex's ear. “Al,” he whispers. “Time to wake up, darling.”

Alex doesn't so much as stir.

The hickey's Miles left him with have started to fade. Miles decides pretty quickly he simply can't have that. He straddles Alex, careful not to put too much weight on him, and sets to work marking him up all over again. If he has it his way Alex will carry marks home with him. Ones that stay long after they land in London. He said he wants to remember so Miles will gladly leave him with a reminder.

Alex comes awake slowly. He moans, his eyes still closed, low in his throat. His hips jerk up of their own accord.

Miles knows he's truly awake when he brings his hands up- one to Miles' hair, the other to his hip- and laughs, voice still low and sleep rough. “Good morning to you, too, Miles.”

Miles pecks him on the lips. “Always a good morning when I wake up next to you, love,” he says, which- might be crossing some sort of line. At this point Miles isn't even sure where the line is, and he doesn't much care. Neither does Alex, evidently. He beams up at Miles, brings him back in for another kiss.

“Sap,” he mutters.

Miles doesn't bother arguing. He plants feather-light kisses on Alex's jaw, his neck, down to his collarbone, his chest, his stomach, working his way further and further down until he's not straddling Alex anymore but is instead laying between his legs. He kisses Alex's thigh, bites down there hard enough to have Alex hissing, laves over the bite with his tongue. Both of Alex's hands are in Miles' hair now, alternating between pulling and petting.

Alex is clad only in boxer shorts and they're doing nothing to hide the effect Miles is having on him. Miles is still struggling with the idea that it's him Alex is hard for, that it's his name slipping from Alex's lips. He can't help but wonder how Alexa could ever be okay with sharing. If Alex were his-

But Alex isn't. Miles mentally berates himself for even thinking it, blames it on being barely awake.

Alex's phone rings just as Miles is hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Alex's shorts, prepared to discard them. They both pause, turning to look at the offending cellphone in unison.

“Ignore it,” Miles suggests, at the same time Alex says, “I should get that.”

Miles tries to convey via glare how bad of an idea he thinks that is but Alex ignores him. He reaches for the phone, glances at the caller ID, and accepts with call with an only slightly breathy, “Hello, love.”

Miles knows without needing to be told that it's Alexa. Of course it's Alexa.

“Er, no,” Alex says, replying to a question Miles can't hear. Then, with a slightly wide-eyed look down at Miles, he adds, “I'm not busy.”

“Like hell you aren't,” Miles mutters, rather offended.

“Just a minute,” Alex whispers at him, holding the phone away from his mouth so Alexa doesn't hear.

But Miles doesn't want to wait and, what's more, he wouldn't mind it if Alexa knew she was interrupting something. Quite rude of her, after all.

He rakes his nails up Alex's thighs and nuzzles at his crotch. Alex arches into the contact even as he shakes his head, looking panicked. He stutters into the phone. Miles smiles wickedly up at him. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts again and makes quick work of removing them. 

“S-sorry, what was that?” he asks Alexa. But Miles gets the feeling he's not listening to her at all, not with the way he's watching Miles, evidently quite eager for whatever he'll do next, phone call be damned.

Miles licks his length from base to tip. Alex is already so hard it looks painful. His free hand clenches and unclenches in the sheets. He says something to Alexa- Miles isn't sure what, he just takes notice of the way Alex's voice shakes. 

It's when Miles takes the head between his lips that Alex very nearly moans aloud. He starts to, but he throws a hand over his mouth, bites down on his finger to stop himself. So Miles goes down further, slowly. As slow as he can stand to for the sake of being a tease, trying to draw a noise out of Alex that he can't cover up.

He succeeds when he wraps his fingers around the base and pulls off just enough to swirl his tongue around the head. Alex gasps, breathes, “ _Fuck_ ,” and Alexa's tinny, indistinct voice grows a little louder. Miles looks up just in time to see Alex ending the call and practically throwing his phone onto the bedside table.

“Fuck,” he says again. “Miles, you're- you're so-” He cuts himself off, groans as Miles picks up the pace. “I'm in for an earful later,” he says- but he's smiling, so Miles takes it he isn't too upset.

-

Miles wakes before Alex again on Sunday morning. This time from a much different dream. A dream that's left Miles with an achy feeling he can't quite describe.

In the dream, he and Alex had been happy. They'd been in London. They'd been behaving like a proper couple. In the dream there was no Alexa hanging over their heads, no media worries. They'd just been... _happy_.

Until Miles confessed his true feelings. He'd been so sure Alex returned them. In truth, it hadn't even occurred to him that Alex might not feel the same way. Not until Alex recoiled from him like he'd been hit. Not until Alex explained to him, in no uncertain terms, that he would never feel that way. That it was alright to shag and have a laugh but he'd never be in love with Miles, he'd never want to be anything more than _best mates_.

It's strange, but waking up next to Alex, their legs tangled together under the sheets, is still a relief even after the dream. That's how Miles knows he's in trouble. Just seeing Alex, just being near him, lifts Miles' spirits. And he's gotten so used to Alex being the first thing he sees in the morning, to trading sleepy good morning kisses, to wrapping around him at night... The idea of returning to his own empty flat, of falling asleep by himself in a bed that's too big for one person, is awful. And who's going to sit and make stupid jokes at the telly with him, or serenade him with overtly ridiculous love songs just to make him laugh? Who's going to read to him when he can't sleep? Who's going to help fill up all that _space_ in his flat?

Alex looks so serene in his sleep. They're lying face to face, barely a breath apart. Miles traces a finger over his cheekbones, then around the edges of his lips.

_I love you_. It's on the tip of his tongue. But he can't say it. Not even when Alex is asleep, unable to hear him. He's said it before, of course, but this _I love you_ is so very different. Bigger, heavier. Miles can hardly stand to admit it to himself, much less to anyone else. Much less when Alex is already very much in love with someone else.

Miles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. When he opens them again Alex is blinking back at him, sleepy smile already half-formed on his face.

But maybe Miles' expression is giving something away because Alex's smile falls pretty quickly. He takes Miles hand in one of his own, holds it tight. “Morning,” he whispers. “You alright, love?”

Miles brings Alex's hand to his lips and brushes them over the backs of his knuckles. “Perfect, darling. Just thinking, is all.”

“Dangerous, that. Care to share?”

Instead of answering, Miles leans forward for his good morning kiss. Alex seems happy to oblige. He wiggles closer still, until he can wrap his arms fully around Miles, until their chests are pressed nearly flush together. He peppers Miles' face with kisses until Miles can't help but smile.

“There, that's better,” he decides when they separate. “You're not supposed to look sad on our day off.”

“Did I? Look sad, I mean?”

“Or summat like that.”

“I'm not,” Miles assures him. “I'm just... Can we stay here for a bit?”

“Course.” Alex nuzzles at his neck. “You need a cuddle? Alexa says I'm good for that.”

“Yes, please,” Miles says, hoping he doesn't sound half as bitter as he's starting to feel. “Today's our one day of being able to stay in late guilt free. Let's enjoy it, yeah?”

“You won't hear me complaining. Sometimes I think this is just where I belong...”

Miles almost wishes he wouldn't say things like that. But only almost.

-

It's sometime later, in the afternoon, when they're sat on the balcony having a smoke, that Alex brings it up.

It's an overcast day, sort of gloomy, but it's not raining just yet. Miles is reclining in his fold out chair, looking for shapes in the clouds when Alex says, “So why'd you never say anything?”

Miles doesn't have to ask what he means. He already knows. “The opportunity never presented itself,” he replies honestly. “And, er. I dunno. We had a good thing going so I figured, why screw it up? Plus you've always been after some bird or other, now you're with Lex... I thought you were straight as an arrow.”

“But you did think about it?”

Miles shrugs. “Once or twice.”

Alex takes a drag of his cigarette. He's watching Miles, thinking. Finally he says, “I did, too.”

“Did you now?”

“Yeah. More than once or twice, if I'm honest.”

“Well, why'd _you_ never say anything? You're the one who let me think you were bloody straight.”

“I thought about it. Especially in the beginning. I thought about it a _lot_ in the beginning.”

Miles blinks at him, surprised. “What?”

Alex shifts uncomfortably in his chair like he's embarrassed at having admitted it. “I mean, you're well fit- always have been- and the way you played... And you were so, like, unashamed, you know? Outgoing. Drew me like a moth to a flame. And then when I found out you liked blokes as well as birds I thought maybe that's why you bothered keeping me around... You never did say owt though so eventually I figured you weren't interested, er, in that way.”

Miles blinks some more. He's having trouble processing all this. It paints their past in an entirely different light. Quite frankly, Alex having a _crush_ on him explains some his early behavior. Like how quiet and nervous he got whenever Miles tried to speak to him. At the time Miles had chalked it up to shyness, which part of it undoubtedly was, but now that he thinks on it he's realizing Alex wasn't nearly as bad around the others.

For a moment he lets himself imagine what could've happened if Alex had let on that he wasn't opposed to going with a bloke. Miles liked Alex even back then. He may not have realized the extent to which he liked him but, given the opportunity, he's sure he'd have made some sort of move. And then what? Would they have been a couple? Would they still be together? How would Alexa have fit into the picture?

Miles closes his eyes, mentally shakes off all the what-if's. It's not like either of them can go back and change the past. And Alex probably wouldn't want to even if they could.

“Again,” Miles says, opening his eyes. “ _Why_ didn't you tell me you weren't entirely straight? And don't give me that bullshit about how it weren't 'relevant' again. Sounds like it was pretty bloody relevant to me.”

Alex frowns over at him. “What would you have done, Miles? I mean, really. Back then you were just stringing together one night stands. If I'd said then I'd be one of them and that would've been it. I didn't wanna be another fucking notch in your belt. Can you blame me for that?”

With a sigh, Miles extinguishes his cigarette. “Oh, Alex,” he says. He crosses the balcony, kneels at Alex's side, takes his hand. “I were daft back then, I'll admit it, but not that daft. Not daft enough to shag you and leave you.” With one hand on the back of his neck, Miles coaxes Alex into a quick kiss. Another kiss just for the sake of kissing, one that's not leading anywhere. One of their few of that nature. “You've always been different. For me, I mean. If you'd told me... Well, I dunno what I'd have done, if I'm honest, but it wouldn't have been that.”

“And it won't be now, right?”

“Pardon?”

“When we go back...”

“Oh, la. We'll always be bezzies. I'll always be around. That I can promise you.”

_Even if it hurts like hell, seeing you with her_ , Miles tacks on mentally. Alex doesn't need to know that bit.


	5. Chapter 5

Monday and Tuesday pass in something of a blur.

It's a _happy_ blur but a blur nonetheless. Miles decides to try and set aside his worries and just be with Alex. And Alex does a wonderful job distracting him. For two whole days there are no mentions of Alexa or London. That makes it easier, too. Miles just pretends their time in Paris will never end. He lets himself give in to the fantasy that he and Alex are it for each other, that they've got all the time in the world to be together this way.

Their shows of affection grow more frequent. There's the sex, of course, and they're getting each other off at every opportunity, but outside of that as well. They kiss all the time, even when it's not leading anywhere, and hold hands for the sake of it. Miles has always been a person who likes to touch and Alex seems all too happy to let him. Miles pushes the boundaries of what's acceptable in front of others- like the time they're sitting in the studio and he pulls Alex into his lap and winds his arms around him from behind. Or the time they're having lunch at a little cafe with James and Miles holds Alex's hand under the table. Or when they're at the pub and Miles slips his hand into Alex's back pocket.

Alex doesn't seem to mind. Or if he does then he indulges Miles anyway, and if James or anyone else notices anything amiss they're kind enough not to mention it.

On Wednesday they're released from the studio early. Their work is almost done, actually, ahead of schedule. Not that it matters. They're allowed to stay in Paris until Sunday no matter when the album is finished.

As soon as they step outside, Alex turns to Miles and asks, “We have a date, don't we?”

“Pardon?”

“The Eiffel. Remember?”

“What, tonight?”

“Why not tonight?”

Miles shrugs. “I thought we'd go Saturday, maybe. Save it for last.”

“Oh, come on. It's a perfect night for it, yeah?” Alex sidles closer, sly smile on his face. “Come on, Mi,” he says, going up on his toes to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Let me take you out, love.”

Miles definitely can't say no to that. Not that he much minds, anyway, truth be told. It's more important that they go together than when they go.

-

Evidently Alex has already done some research because he knows just which metro line to take and how to get there. They step out of the station and Alex leads them up a set of steps and onto a large marble plaza. From there the view of the Eiffel, all lit up as the sun has almost entirely disappeared beneath the horizon, is stunning. It sits across the Seine river, framed by the fountains in the Trocadero gardens.

“I hope you don't mind,” Alex says. “We're taking the scenic route.”

“Well, if we're going to do Paris, we've got to do it right.”

“My thinking exactly,” Alex agrees. He's practically beaming as he takes in the view. 

Alex takes his hand as they start walking and doesn't let go. Not as they stroll through the gardens, or over the Pont d'Iena bridge. Alex is animated as they talk, excited, and his happiness is practically contagious. Miles forgets to worry about anything- about the fact that they're holding hands in an incredibly public place, or about the fact that Alex isn't really his and they aren't _really_ on a date. He just lets himself believe it for a while, submerges himself in the fantasy.

When they reach the base of the tower Alex pulls him to a stop. “Wait,” he says. “We need a picture.”

He pulls out his phone and pauses to study the people around them. Miles has a feeling he's looking for someone who definitely won't recognize him, and his suspicions are confirmed when Alex approaches an older woman with no children or teenagers in her vicinity. She agrees to take their picture with a polite, unknowing smile.

Miles has never felt more the tourist as they pose but that's just one more thing he forgets to worry about as Alex surprises him again and pulls him into a kiss just as the camera clicks. Miles is laughing as they separate.

“Another reminder,” Alex says with a wink. He takes his phone back and pockets it before Miles gets a chance to see the resulting picture. “Onwards,” he commands, taking Miles' hand again.

They bypass all the souvenir vendors (although Miles threatens to buy Alex an airbrushed t-shirt and force him to wear it onstage) and, once again providing the illusion this is a proper date, Alex insists on paying for their tickets.

They decide to walk up to the second floor. They take their sweet time doing it, although the 704 steps don't seem nearly as arduous to climb as they might have seemed alone. With Alex keeping him entertained the time flies.

The view when they finally reach their destination is breathtaking. The city of Paris lays beneath them, lit up and thriving. Alex's fingers clutch at Miles' coat as he takes in the view wide-eyed. “It's beautiful,” he practically whispers.

As beautiful as it indeed is, Miles finds himself watching Alex instead, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The genuine smile lighting up Alex's face, the sheer amazement there. The way the golden light is reflecting in his eyes, the way he sounds as he breathes Miles' name, like he's in awe. And it's as Alex turns to him, more gorgeous than any cityscape, that Miles can't help but put words to his feelings. 

“I love you,” he says. He doesn't mean to and as soon as he's said it he wants to take it back.

It'd be fine- it'd be _completely fine_ if not for the way he freezes up after. They've traded _I love you's_ before, after all, and it would have been so easy for Miles to pass this off as friendly. Except the look on his face gives him away. He's not sure what look that might be- part want, part shock, part pain, maybe- but whatever it is tips Alex off immediately that this isn't some platonic declaration.

“What?” Alex says, his smile replaced by what looks strangely like fear.

“Er, I mean-” Miles stammers, at a loss but trying to salvage the moment anyway. “I mean I-”

“Don't,” Alex interrupts. He turns away, back to the city beneath them, but Miles can tell that this time he isn't really seeing it. “Miles, please don't.”

Miles closes his eyes, trying to will himself not to get upset. Not to cry. How embarrassing would that be, crying in front of all these people? But it's like his dream all over again. This rejection isn't exactly shocking but it stings just as badly. Or worse, perhaps, seeing as how it's very much real. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let himself believe the fantasy so much that he'd let his feelings slip?

He opens his eyes, brings Alex back into focus. Alex still isn't looking at him. He's gone tense, stiff as a board.

“It doesn't have to change anything,” Miles says, voice low, for Alex's ears only. “I- I'm not _asking_ for anything.”

“It changes things,” Alex argues. “How could it not?”

Miles refuses to be pushed away. If he's to be rejected- well, they've still got a few days in Paris. He places a hand on Alex's shoulder, forces him to turn and meet his gaze. “We're still in Paris, right? And I'll leave it here, if you want. I'll leave it all here. But until then, until we land in London, it doesn't have to matter.”

Miles can hardly stand the look Alex is giving him now. It looks a hell of a lot like pity. But Alex doesn't argue. In fact, he doesn't say anything. He takes Miles' arm, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and turns away again.

They barely say two words to each other during the ride home.

Alex sleeps in his own room.

-

It's a huge effort for Miles to crawl out of bed Thursday morning. He wakes up well before his alarm sounds and spends a good portion of the morning sitting on the loveseat with a blanket around his shoulders, staring out the window and alternately blaming himself for blurting his feelings, for letting his guard down, or irrationally hating and/or missing Alex.

He doubts he could ever really hate Alex, though, and that's a sad fact. He can't even really bring himself to blame Alex for leading him on- not when Miles invited every word, every touch. In fact, Miles is at fault for letting Alex believe there were no real, dangerous feelings involved. For letting him think it really was all in good fun. Or so he tells himself.

In Miles' own defense, it _was_ all in fun at first. Now Miles is well aware this isn't some passing infatuation. He's in love with Alex. Now that he's said it aloud he's got no trouble admitting it to his own self. He's in love with Alex, and he's probably just ruined their friendship. Just like he feared from the beginning.

Eventually his alarm does go off and he forces himself off the loveseat and into the shower. The entire time he's getting ready he's half-listening for a knock at the door. Of course Alex never does knock, though. Why would he? What would they have to say to each other? Miles is under no delusions that Alex will come round and confess he feels the same way, that he's suddenly changed his mind. That sort of thing just doesn't happen in real life.

No, he's sure that in three days time Alex will fly back to London and straight back into Alexa's arms.

It's when Miles thinks about returning to London that it really hits him what he'll be losing if he can't count Alex as a friend anymore. Sure, Miles has got other friends- loads of them, really- but none like Alex. Alex is his best mate, has been for years now, and if Miles lets things grow stilted and awkward between them he'd be letting go of the best friendship of his life so far.

He can't let that happen. He can't let Alex grow distant, he can't relegate him to a passing acquaintance. It'll hurt, no doubt, seeing he and Alexa together, but Miles would rather bear it in silence than lose Alex entirely.

Now he just has to let Alex know that.

Easier said than done, really.

Miles goes straight to Alex's hotel room after he's gotten ready but he can't actually bring himself to knock. He keeps running through different scenarios in his head, all the ways the conversation could potentially play out. None of them end well.

Surprisingly, Alex presents Miles with the perfect opportunity for a chat when, in the midst of their studio time, he invites Miles out for a smoke. It's more or the less the first thing he's said to Miles all day. Miles takes it as another peace offering, a sign that their friendship isn't beyond repair, but they wind up smoking in silence. A silence Miles has no idea how to break. He opens his mouth a few times to attempt it, but closes it again before a proper sentence can form, too afraid of what Alex might have to say in return.

For the second night in a row, they go their separate ways when they reach the hotel.

Miles doesn't even try to pretend everything is okay. He settles on the bed, stares at the black telly, and marvels at how badly he's fucked up.

He's not sure how much time passes exactly before the knock at the door comes. It startles him so badly he jumps.

Alex is staring at his own feet when Miles opens the door. He goes on staring at his own feet as he says, “I, er, came to get me things. Me jacket, books...”

Miles' hopes- the little that he had left- are dashed in the blink of an eye. He wordlessly opens the door wide, steps aside so Alex can enter the room. He watches as Alex slinks in and starts gathering his things, one by one, until he's got an armful. It feels so... final. It feels like a fucking breakup.

Miles clears his throat. “You don't have to do that,” he says gently. “Yet, I mean. Still got a couple days...”

Alex shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. His eyes dart around the room, settling on everything but Miles. “I'm leaving tonight, actually.”

Miles blinks. His heart beats a fast, unsteady rhythm against his ribcage. “What?”

“Tonight. I, er. Booked an early flight. It's all set.”

Miles sits down hard on the bed, almost as if Alex physically pushed him. It feels that way. It feels like he's just been caught unawares with a punch to the stomach. Not speaking to him was one thing but now Alex is _leaving_?

“Why?” Miles demands. “Alex, I know what I said was- was out of line, I do, but that doesn't mean you have to _flee the fucking country_.” He can feel himself panicking. It shows in his voice, in the way it wavers, threatening to crack. “We... we can't leave it like this,” he babbles. “Don't just fucking leave, don't leave me here-”

“It's not that,” Alex interrupts. He looks shocked at Miles' reaction to his news. He shouldn't be. Not after everything. “It's not, Mi. It's Alexa... She wants me home, is all.”

“Fucking _Alexa_ ,” Miles snaps, the ire that he knows is irrational and petty showing through. “What about the album, Al?”

“It's done, more or less. There's nowt left for me to do. It won't hurt anything, me going home a couple days early.” Alex sets his things down on the loveseat and crosses the room to sit at Miles' side. He does it slowly, like he's afraid Miles might be easily spooked. He sits far enough away that they aren't touching- but they could be. “Are you angry with me?” he asks at a whisper.

Miles laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh. It's bitter, ugly. “No. Not angry. Just...”

_Heartbroken_ , he realizes. He doesn't say it, though. Can't. Instead he settles on, “Scared.”

“Of what?”

Miles closes his eyes. “Losing you.”

Alex takes his hand. Miles should refuse the contact, pull his own hand away, but instead he squeezes, holds tight. “You shouldn't be,” Alex assures him. But to Miles it sounds hollow, empty. Alex is _leaving_. “Weren't I the one asking you to promise we'd always be best mates just a few days ago?”

“That was before.”

Alex falls quiet for a moment. Maybe he's replaying Miles' botched confession in his head, the way Miles is. Eventually he says, “I can't give you what you want, Mi.”

“...You're leaving tonight?”

“I am.”

Miles turns to face him. “One last kiss then, Al. One last kiss and I'll leave it all here, like I said. When we're in London we can pretend Paris never happened, if you like. We can go back to being bezzies. I'll never speak a word of it and- and things can be like before, yeah? Just one more. A goodbye kiss.”

Alex strokes a thumb over Miles' knuckles. “Just one more. But not a goodbye kiss. Just... a kiss for closure. Right? Sounds better, doesn't it?” Alex's eyes flicker to Miles' lips. Miles knows Alex wants to kiss him. Alex may not be able to love him but Miles doesn't doubt that there's attraction there. Alex has spent the last ten days proving it.

Miles is the one to pull Alex into him. This kiss is, again, not like one they've ever shared before. Miles tries to pour every ounce of his feelings into it, as if maybe he can rid himself of them. Alex gives as good as he gets, feeding Miles' frustration, his longing, back to him. He tastes like stale cigarette smoke and _Alex_ and Miles tries with every fiber of his being to fix these details in his mind, to memorize the way it feels to kiss Alex, even though he already doubts he could ever forget. He has a feeling these Paris memories will haunt him for a good long while.

They separate and Miles closes his eyes. Alex doesn't go far, though. At least not right away. He gives Miles one more chaste peck on the lips and wraps his arms around Miles' neck, drawing him into a hug. Miles doesn't reciprocate the hug. He feels drained. He doesn't want to move except to curl up in bed.

Alex leaves without a word and Miles does just that, willing himself to sleep. He does sleep, eventually. He dreams of London.


	6. Chapter 6

It's raining when Miles arrives in London. It's nearly always raining in London it seems but this time Miles can't help but think how appropriate the weather is, considering his mood.

Miles was able to put on a happy face his last couple of days in Paris. Alex must've already made his excuses to James and the rest because no one bothered to ask where he went or why he left, and not having to make up some bullshit for him and lie to everyone- or even talk about him much, period- made it easier for Miles to pretend everything was fine. Wrapping up the album was easy, Alex wasn't kidding when he said it was nearly finished, and Miles spent his last day chain smoking on the balcony and then getting drunk at the hotel bar. Drunk enough to consider calling Alex. He probably would have, too, except his phone died while he was still considering it, and then he fell into bed and passed out before he could charge it and follow through.

Now Miles is sober but he still wants to talk to Alex. He just... misses him. Already. And that combined with the events of a few days ago has Miles feeling a tad gloomy, to say the least.

Miles is sitting in the back of a taxi, fiddling with his phone, and it feels sort of now or never. The longer he and Alex go without speaking the harder it'll be to patch things up. And Miles desperately wants things to be okay between them. They don't even have to be _great_ , just okay. Just anything that isn't not speaking to each other, avoiding each other.

He tries writing out a few different texts but he winds up deleting them all. They all sound... forced. Contrived.

He hits call before he can talk himself out of it. He taps his fingers on the armrest as he waits for Alex to answer, nervous.

Alexa picks up after the third ring with a cheery, “Hello, Miles!”

Miles is so surprised to hear her voice instead of Alex's that for a moment he's tongue-tied. After an uncomfortably long pause he manages a stilted, “Er, hi. Lex.”

“You alright?” she asks, sounding a bit worried now.

“Oh, fine,” Miles assures her. He clears his throat. “I was just, you know, expecting Al.”

“Sorry, Miles,” she laughs. “Didn't mean to startle you. Al's just having a shower. Do you want me to pass anything along?”

“Er, no. I was just- I just got back into town, is all.” Miles can feel himself going pink with embarrassment, thinking Alex must've told her all about how he made a fool of himself in Paris. She's probably wondering why he's bothering to call at all. He can just picture the two of them as Alex related the story. They probably laughed.

“Oh, did you?” she says, interrupting his thoughts. “Wonderful! So that means you can come then?”

“Pardon? Come where?”

“Did Alex not tell you? He said he told you,” Alexa grumbles. “We're having a get-together round at the pub tonight. Alex said he wasn't sure you'd get back in time but now that you have...”

On the one hand- Alex didn't invite him. Very pointedly didn't invite him. On the other, it sounds like the perfect opportunity for them to try their hand at being normal again. And it sounds like maybe he didn't tell Alexa about the disastrous end to their stay in Paris after all. That'll make seeing her slightly less awkward. _Slightly_. 

“Right,” he says. “I'll try to make it.”

“Great! I'll text you the address, alright? And I'll let Al know you made it home safe.”

“Thanks, Lex.”

When Miles hangs up his mind immediately launches into a debate with itself about whether or not he should really go. He tries to picture himself there, how it'll feel seeing Alex and Alexa together, how Alex will treat him- probably quite awkwardly at first, knowing him. Still... it could be worth it. He's the one who promised things would go back to normal in London and _normally_ Miles would accept an invitation like Alexa's without hesitation or question. If he stays away it's just going to seem like he's avoiding Alex- and avoiding Alex isn't going to solve anything.

Still, he goes back and forth on whether or not to make an appearance right up until he's stood outside the pub, staring at the door. He very nearly gets right back in the taxi and goes home but honestly it's either face Alex and have a few pints with some mates or go home, get drunk alone, and wallow in his own misery and when he thinks of it that way the choice is easy.

The pub is busy but not overly crowded so Miles spots his group quickly enough. It's just Alexa, Alex, and the rest of the Monkeys- all people Miles is comfortable with. Normally he's good with new people, welcomes them even, but tonight the familiar faces are comforting. It helps to calm his nerves.

A little, anyway, but they flare up again a moment later. Matt spots him as he's crossing the room and gives him a wave and a smile, which is fine, but when Alex turns to see who he's waving at the expression that overtakes his face nearly has Miles fleeing again. He looks like he's just been presented with a very unpleasant surprise. And he seems unable to look away. His eyes track Miles all the way across the room, until he's stood a foot away. Then he drops his gaze to the table.

“'lo, Lads,” Miles greets them, forcing a smile. “Alexa,” he adds with a nod in her direction.

The others all return the greeting- everyone except Alex, who squints up at him again and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Alexa chimes in, evidently oblivious, “Oh, I forgot to mention! Miles called earlier, said he'd just gotten back into town, so I asked him to stop by and have a few drinks.”

“Ah,” says Alex.

His reaction- or lack thereof- is evidently enough to tip the others off that something is the matter. An awkward silence falls over the table, right up until Alexa gently inquires, “Should I... not have?”

“No- no, it's fine,” Alex assures her, but the way he pushes back his chair and announces his intention to get some fresh air immediately after is the opposite of reassuring.

Miles doesn't wait for an invitation. As Alex makes for the door he draws his own chair up to the table and takes a seat. He's tempted to follow Alex, considers that maybe Alex _wants_ to be followed, but it's more likely he's gone off to have a smoke and a think. Best give him a moment to get over the shock.

“Do we even wanna know?” Jamie wonders.

“Probably not,” Miles replies honestly.

Thankfully they take the hint and let it drop. Miles orders a pint and steers the conversation in other directions. By the time he's finished the pint Alex still hasn't returned. Alexa keeps casting curious glances at the door- she's thinking of going after him. Maybe it's petty, that pesky jealousy flaring up again, but Miles takes a weird sort of joy out of beating her to the punch. He figures Alex has had enough time to think, now, anyway.

“I'll got fetch Al back, shall I?” he says to the table at large. But when he stands, Alexa stands too.

“Actually, Miles, do you mind if I have a word?” she asks. She takes him gently by the arm and directs him away from the table, towards the bar. He doesn't protest, mostly because he's too busy trying to figure out what she could possibly want to talk about. Is she going to warn him off? That seems the most likely of the things his brain comes up with. He doubts she wants to discuss favorite positions.

She twirls a strand of hair absently around her finger as she considers what she's about to say. “Did... something happen in Paris? It's just, Al's been acting... strange since he got back. And now this, tonight.” She looks genuinely concerned, like their friendship is important to her, as she asks, “Did the two of you fight?”

Miles blinks at her, at a loss.

“I've tried to ask him about it,” Alexa goes on in a rush. “But he won't talk to me. Not about Paris or about anything else, either. He's been so quiet the last couple of days. I just thought you might know something...”

Miles blinks at her some more, trying to come up with a polite way to ask, _you do know we shagged, right?_ But if she doesn't then that's certainly not the way to tell her. Would Alex lie to him like that? Miles did ask him point blank if she knew... didn't he?

Or- no. Now that he thinks on it, he never did ask if she knew- he only asked if she'd be okay with it, to which Alex always replied that she would be. But if that were the case then why wouldn't Alex have told her? Miles knows from having Alex confide in him that one of the conditions of their separate countries deal is that they tell each other if they've shagged someone else. If Alex kept mum then that's a clear violation and he's sure Alexa wouldn't be okay with _that_.

“Er, we did have a bit of a tiff,” he says. It's not entirely a lie. “Why don't I just go... make amends, yeah?”

Alexa actually looks relieved. Maybe at having solved the mystery of why her boyfriend has been behaving weirdly. “Yes, please,” she says. “Then things can get back to normal.”

Miles doesn't contradict her, even though he's starting to think _normal_ might be a bit difficult to achieve.

He half expects to find that Alex has left when he makes his way outside but, no, Alex is still there, sitting on the curb and having a smoke. His second, by the looks of the cigarette still smoldering on the ground beside him.

It's a cool, quiet night. The moon is peaking out from behind the clouds and the rain has let up. Only a few people are making their way up and down the sidewalks- few enough to provide the illusion of privacy.

Miles pauses a few feet away, taking Alex in before Alex notices he's there. A part of Miles had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, the circumstances and setting of Paris had cast some sort of spell over him and that when he returned to London it would be to find his feelings changed but just laying eyes on Alex is enough to prove to him that, no, that's not the case. Seeing Alex, the idea of being with or talking to him, still has the same heart-fluttering effect on him.

A memory comes to him unbidden of Alex, cast in shadows and pale moonlight, as he is now. But in the memory Alex is laying beside him in bed, smiling softly, perfectly content, one hand stroking gently through Miles' hair.

Miles shakes himself out of it. He'll probably never have that again, best not to dwell on the past.

It's not until Miles takes a seat beside him that Alex finally takes notice that he's there, so caught up in thought he must've been. He looks startled, at first, but when he realizes who it is his expression quickly softens. Into what, Miles couldn't say, but it's far cry better than the look he'd had in the pub.

“You didn't tell her,” Miles says. “Did you?”

Alex doesn't answer. He exhales smoke.

“She's worried about you, I think. Said you've been weird.”

Alex scoffs. “Suddenly interested in helping our relationship, eh, Miles?”

“Don't be an arse. She asked me about Paris, if we'd been fighting.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That I were coming out here to make amends.”

Alex takes another drag from his cigarette. Miles recalls the thought he'd had on the balcony- that Alex makes smoking look damn good. And he does. Watching him, his mouth, the way his cheeks hollow, is mesmerizing.

“Sorry about... before,” Alex says. “I weren't expecting you, caught me off guard.”

Miles shrugs.

“I have been acting _weird_ , I suppose,” Alex admits. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground next to its predecessor. “I can't stop thinking about bloody Paris.”

“Do you regret it?”

Alex hesitates, like he's genuinely considering it, but, “No- no. Definitely not.”

“You know I would never, like, bring it up. In front of the others, I mean. If that's what you were worried about.”

“I was afraid _I'd_ give something away.”

“How so?”

“I just- I dunno.”

They both go quiet for a moment. Then Alex speaks up, voice lower than before, “The first night I was back I dreamed about you. It weren't anything naughty, but we were in Paris and you were...” He trails off, changes direction. “I woke up expecting to find you beside me. You weren't, of course. It were Alexa kissing me good morning. And do you know what? I was fucking _disappointed_.”

Miles' heart feels like it's in his throat. He asks at a whisper, “What are you saying, Alex?”

Alex shrugs, withdraws into himself, won't meet Miles' eye. “I don't know. I don't fucking know, except I wanted it to be you.”

“Don't do this to me, Al. Don't give me false hope where there is none.”

Alex shakes his head. He opens his mouth but whatever it was he'd been about to say falls away as a shadow is cast over them. They both turn to look- it's Alexa, of course. Thankfully the sweet smile on her face spares them having to wonder if she overheard anything.

“Alright, boys?” she asks. “Ready to join the rest of us again?”

Miles plasters on a smile of his own. Alex doesn't bother, but he does take the hand Alexa offers him.

They're both rather quiet the rest of the night. Miles watches Alex and Alexa with a lump in his throat. He leaves early with the excuse that traveling has worn him out. It's true- he's exhausted. But when he falls into bed he finds he can't sleep.

_I wanted it to be you_.

It's not much of a declaration. That doesn't stop him playing it over and over again in his head. It's something. It's some small sign that maybe Miles isn't alone in feeling this way. It feels like a lifeline.

-

Miles determines at some point that he's not going to be the first one to break down and call Alex but it's only two days before he caves. He's not drunk but he is buzzed and it's midnight and he's all alone, watching crap telly, and he just wants Alex next to him. That's all. He just wants him there. And it occurs to him that that's not asking much. He's had Alex over a hundred times and before he wouldn't have thought twice about ringing him up.

Miles shoots him a text, to which Alex replies _be there in a few_. No hesitation, no questions. Miles asks him to come and he instantly agrees.

However innocent Miles' original intentions were, his thoughts turn indecent the second he opens the door and lays eyes on Alex. He's clearly been out tonight, judging by the tightness of his trousers, the number of buttons undone on his top, the state of his hair, and the faint smell of alcohol and smoke. He was probably out with Alexa. Did they dance together? She probably had her hands all over him. The idea makes Miles queasy.

“Miles,” Alex greets, pushing past him and into the flat. He pauses, looks around the place like he's never been there before. He's definitely a bit pissed- Miles can hear it in his voice as he says, “Missed this place.”

Miles scoffs. “You missed my shoebox of a flat?”

“Mmhmm,” Alex confirms. He settles on the couch without an invitation. Sort of collapses onto it actually. The telly is still on, casting flickering light around the room, but it's muted now.

Miles closes the door and sort of lingers in front of it. “More than me?” he wonders.

Alex looks up at him then. His eyes take him in from head to toe before finally meeting his gaze. He shakes his head, holds out a hand. “Come here,” he says.

Miles hesitates, his conscience preemptively berating him, but he silences it quickly enough. The alcohol helps with that, he's sure. But so does the way Alex is looking at him. Like he wants him. Miles has never been able to deny Alex anything.

Miles takes his hand. “You're drunk,” he says.

“Yep,” Alex agrees. He pulls at Miles' hand, pulls him down until Miles is straddling him, knees on either side of him. Miles doesn't even pretend to protest. This is the closest they've been in days. Alex is just as warm as he remembers. He moves his hands to Miles' hips, gripping hard. “Are you going to kiss me, Miles, or do I have to beg?”

Miles is smiling a he closes the distance between them. Despite the fact that what they're doing is oh-so-very wrong a part of him is thrilled at this turn of events.

The kiss is unhurried and surprisingly sweet. Alex hums into it, a contented sound, and when they separate he's smiling too. “I did miss you,” he says. “Very much.”

Miles laughs. “Believe it or not, this wasn't what I had in mind when I asked you over.”

“Oh?” Alex draws him down, kisses along his jaw. “We can stop,” he murmurs. His hands run almost absently along the insides of Miles' thighs. “Just say the word.”

Miles gasps as Alex nips at his neck. “W-well,” he stutters. “You are drunk, love.”

“Wanted you when I was sober.”

Miles draws him into another kiss, this one hurried, filthy. He grinds his arse down and delights in the moan it pulls from Alex.

“In that case,” Miles says, giving in to depravity. Later he imagines he'll be ashamed of how easily he crumbled but right now he can't make it matter. “Why don't we take this into the bedroom, hm?”

-

Miles sleeps wrapped up in Alex for the first time in days. Perhaps coincidentally, it's the best sleep he's gotten since Alex left him in Paris.

When they first wake up, early morning light streaming in through the curtains, casting the room in gold, there's this moment of bliss. This moment of pure, untainted happiness. Alex is smiling at him and he's the most perfect thing Miles has ever seen. He leans forward to kiss him good morning and, for a moment, it's just like they're in Paris again. Alex melts into it and Miles thinks _why can't it be like this every morning?_

He knows why and it's that thought that makes his happiness come crashing down. Alex must have the same thought, or at least one similar, because his smile fades in the same moment, until he's left looking lost.

“Fuck,” he says. And then, “I should go.”

“You could stay,” Miles whispers, but he knows before it's even out of his mouth that it's pointless.

Alex leans forward to kiss him again, chaste, quick. “It's early. Go back to sleep,” he says.

Miles doesn't bother arguing. He turns away, buries himself under the covers so he doesn't have to watch Alex leave. Childish, maybe, but Miles isn't sure he could stand it.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite seeming like it should have the opposite effect, sleeping together again somewhat mends Alex and Miles' friendship. They start texting each other again- nothing that might arouse the suspicions of anyone reading them. Miles is careful about that. It's all just stupid shit they'd have sent each other before. Dumb pictures, inane thoughts, _are you alright_ 's and _where are you tonight_ 's.

Alex comes over again a few days later, ostensibly to watch a movie, but as soon as he's in the flat Miles crowds him up against the door and snogs him until they're both breathless. Until Alex is laughing, taken off guard, and holding onto Miles like he'd collapse if he didn't.

“Someone's eager,” he teases.

“Missed you,” Miles says. “Besides, I don't hear any complaints, love.”

“You won't,” Alex assures him. “I missed you, too.”

Miles winds up going to his knees and getting Alex off right there at the door. Alex pulls him towards the couch and returns the favor.

After that, they really do wind up watching a movie, all curled up together on the couch. It's mostly background noise, though. They spend most of its run time talking. Not about anything important. In fact, there's a sort of unspoken rule that they avoid talking about Alexa or feelings of any kind. Neither of them wants to burst the little bubble of bliss they've made for themselves.

At some point they fall asleep. When Miles wakes up just after sunrise Alex is already gone.

It's after that night that Miles' flat becomes a sort of safe-haven for them. It's something else they don't talk about but in public and away from each other they act their usual selves. Alex, presumably, plays the part of the perfect boyfriend while Miles plays the part of best mate and salacious bachelor. But at Miles' flat they're free to behave as they want. At Miles' flat they belong to each other.

Mostly. There are subtle, unwelcome reminders of the real world. Miles isn't allowed to leave any marks, for one, no matter how badly he wants to. Alex is never there when Miles wakes up in the morning, having slipped out sometime in the night, presumably to sneak back into his and Alexa's shared flat. Sometimes Alexa calls or texts while they're together and Alex will immediately drop whatever they're doing to answer. He always seems apologetic after. Not that he ever says _I'm sorry_ but Miles can usually expect a kiss or a cuddle once Alex is off the phone, as if Alex is trying to comfort him.

It's after one such instance that, with her brought to the forefront of his mind, Miles has to ask, “Are you ever going to tell me why you didn't tell her about Paris?”

Alex is sitting across from him at the kitchen table. Miles actually went to the trouble of cooking for them (a process that was interrupted a handful of times by Alex either pinching his arse, pouting for a kiss, or just being distractingly sexy in general). He actually looks startled at the mention of her. The way he grimaces isn't the least bit promising.

“Er... Well.” He runs a hand through his shaggy hair, a nervous habit if Miles ever saw one. “The thing is, Alexa... I may have let slip to her what I thought of you when we first met. And Alexa's never been, like, jealous. Possessive. But my little confession inspired a couple new rules. 'No one we know', she said, and 'no one more than once'.”

Miles takes a deep breath as he lets that sink in. “So it was cheating from the beginning,” he concludes. It's not a question.

“It hardly matters now, does it?” Alex points out. Miles can tell that this topic of conversation is making him uncomfortable.

“It does matter,” Miles argues, even though he's not sure how. “Christ, Al, that first night, I wouldn't have-”

“What? You wouldn't have made a move on me? What bullshit, Miles.”

Miles go quiet. He hasn't got a retort.

Alex sighs. “Would you really go back and undo it all?”

“No,” Miles admits.

“That first night I honestly weren't thinking,” Alex says, absently pushing around the food on his plate with his fork and avoiding eye contact. “I just wanted you. And then, after that, I didn't tell you because I didn't want it to be on your conscience. I didn't think it would ever matter, that you'd ever need to know.”

“You didn't think we'd carry on in London.”

“Right.”

“So why are we?”

Alex snaps up to look at him then, brow furrowed. “What?”

“We both know how I feel, yeah? But why are _you_ doing this, Alex?”

“You want me to say I'm in love with you?”

“I want you to be honest.”

Alex abruptly pushes his chair back from the table and stands. He starts to gather his dishes and carry them into the kitchen. He's buying time to think, Miles knows. Or perhaps he's simply stalling having to answer. Either way, Miles picks up his own dishes and follows him. He doesn't push him on it, though. He's not sure he really wants to hear the answer, anyway.

Alex starts to pace after he sets his plate in the sink. Miles leans against the counter and watches him, waiting patiently.

Eventually Alex stops and turns to him and, sounding extremely frustrated, says, “I don't fucking know.”

That... stings. Miles won't pretend that it doesn't.

At the hurt look on his face Alex rushes forward to take Miles' hand. “No- don't look like that, Mi, it's just... I know I love you, I just don't know if I'm _in love_ with you. And I thought I were in love with Alexa, maybe I still am, I dunno- me feelings are all over the fucking place. And there's a thousand reasons we'd never make it as a real couple and I wouldn't know how to end it with Alexa even I wanted to-”

“Wait,” Miles interrupts Alex's half-panicked babbling. “A thousand reasons? Name a few.”

Alex doesn't even need time to come up with any. Evidently he's thought about this before. “The press, for one. Me managers would never let me come out, we'd have to be secret from everyone. Eventually we'll both be touring again, with no idea when we'll see each other next. And what happens when you're on tour and you meet someone fit and you haven't seen me in ages? What happens when you get tired of me? It's all well and good to say we'll always be friends but how many of your exes are you actually friends with?”

This is what Alex tells himself to justify staying with Alexa, Miles realizes. One reason in particular is especially concerning. “Why do you keep saying 'when I get tired of you', like it's a bloody sure thing?”

Alex shrugs, withdraws into himself. “Isn't it?”

Miles sighs. Alex never ceases to amaze him. How can someone so incredible be, at times, so incredibly insecure?

Miles draws him into a hug, plants a kiss in his hair. “You're daft,” he says simply.

Alex doesn't argue. He rests his head on Miles' shoulder and winds his arms around his waist. Some of the tension leaves him as he realizes Miles isn't going to toss him out.

“I love you, Alex, and it's not the temporary sort.” He pulls back to look Alex in the eye but doesn't break their embrace. “I want everything with you. I want to be with you all proper like. I want to wake up next to you every morning when we're home and take you on dates and kiss you when I please and when I'm touring I want to know I've got you out there somewhere waiting on me. You might not believe me, fuck knows why, but I don't care if I never shag another bird or bloke again. Not if I can call you mine.”

Saying it all aloud is something of a relief. It feels like a weight off his chest. It doesn't matter if Alex reciprocates, just as long as he knows. If, in the end, he chooses Alexa, at least Miles will know it wasn't because Alex didn't know the full extent of his feelings.

Alex shakes his head. He's blushing. “How can you possibly know that after just a few weeks?”

“It's not just a few weeks though, is it? It's all the years of friendship leading up to the past few weeks as well.”

Alex drops his head to Miles' shoulder again, hiding his face. “I don't know what to do,” he says.

“'s alright,” Miles assures him. “We can be done talking about it, if you like. Just... be honest with me from now on, yeah? And while we're at it- any other rules I should know?”

Alex laughs bitterly. “No, I think we've pretty well broken them all at this point. I'm officially cheating scum.”

“At least we'll be in hell together, eh?”

“Yeah,” Alex mumbles. He raises up to give Miles a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, love.”

“It was a bit shit.”

Alex shrugs. “It's the thought that counts.”

Miles laughs and just like that any remaining tension dissipates. Miles doesn't ever want to waste time being cross at Alex, not if he can help it. Their time together still feels somehow finite and, if it's to end, Miles wants to spend as much of it as he can creating happy memories.

-

Alex invites Miles out to the pub on a Friday night. _Just_ Miles. That's not too strange in and of itself. They don't go out as often as they used to, usually preferring to stay in where they can be as open as they like with their affection, but it's not unheard of, either. No, what's strange is Alex's behavior. He doesn't do anything _too_ blatant, nothing that the other patrons of the pub might take notice of, but he does push the boundaries of what they'd normally find acceptable in public. At the table he keeps his hand on Miles' thigh, for instance, thumb stroking up and down the inseam of his trousers, and after a few drinks he takes to whispering naughty things in Miles' ear, to the point where Miles is tempted to drag him into the loo for a quickie, subtlety be damned.

He doesn't, but only because Alex declares, quite abruptly, that they're leaving.

They've both had quite a few by then and are decidedly pissed, to the point where they're giggly and clinging onto each other to keep from falling over as they call a taxi.

Alex rattles off his own address to the driver. At Miles' strange look Alex informs him, “'s closer.”

“Alexa?”

“Gone. Won't be back 'til late tomorrow.”

“Yours it is, then.”

Alex has always been freer with his affection when he's drunk and during the ride he makes no effort to keep his hands to himself. By the time they finally make it into the flat Miles feels like he's going to burst out of his skin. Before the door has even closed behind them they're all over each other. Alex's voice is already ragged as he insists, “Bed.”

They shed clothes as they go, laughing as they trip and fumble their way to the bedroom. But Alex stops Miles with a hand on his wrist just before he opens the door.

“Not that one,” he says. “That's... ours.”

Miles tries to ignore what that word does to him. _Ours_. It's _their_ bed, they share it. Miles and Alex don't have anything that's theirs. Not really. Not in that sense.

“Guest room,” Miles decides.

It's not too difficult to put it out of his mind when he's got Alex to distract him. And what a wonderful distraction he is. He goes a bit mad for being fucked, it turns out. He's noisy, noisier than you'd ever expect, so that he's nearly hoarse once they're finished. And he's so beautiful- always but especially as he's coming apart underneath Miles and crying his name. By the end of it Miles has got some pretty impressive claw marks down his back. Not that he minds in the slightest.

After, Alex is smiling as he draws Miles into a kiss. “Stay,” he slurs, either from drunkenness or exhaustion, Miles can't be sure which. “I'll make you breakfast.”

“You sure?”

“Mm,” Alex says. His eyes have already fallen shut. “Stay with me. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Miles whispers. He stays, of course. He's too tired to move and, besides, there's nowhere else he'd rather be.

-

Alex makes good on his promise of breakfast. Miles wakes to warm sunlight streaming in through the curtains and the smell of bacon. He stands, a bit wobbly on his feet, and wanders into the kitchen in his boxers, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

Alex is there, standing before the stove in ratty pajama bottoms and a worn tee, spatula in hand. He's humming a tune under his breath- one of their songs, actually, from their album, Miles realizes as he draws closer. He wraps Alex up in a hug from behind, startling him. Alex laughs and turns in his grip to greet him with a kiss.

“Good morning sleepyhead,” he says. He's so radiant, beaming up at Miles with what Miles imagines is love in his eyes. It's the sort of smile that, despite feeling hungover and groggy, Miles can't help but return. He tries to fix it in his memory. He can't help but think, _this is what it could be like_.

“Morning,” Miles replies, stealing another quick kiss. He releases Alex to continue cooking, retreats to lean against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “What time is it anyhow?” he asks around another yawn.

“Half past ten, I think.”

Miles groans. “Too early for rockstars.”

“Woke up 'cause me head was pounding. You doing alright?”

“Yeah, mostly. 'm more worried about you.” Miles gives him a pointed look, brow raised.

Alex rolls his eyes. “It wasn't me first time, Miles. 's just been a while.”

“You're good, though?”

“A bit sore, but... I couldn't be better.” He pauses, then adds, “Completely worth it.”

Miles would be lying if he said that didn't make him feel the slightest bit smug. Alexa's probably never seen Alex in quite that state before. “Good,” he says. “Because I'm all for doing that again.”

Alex laughs. “You won't hear me arguing.”

Miles leans over to kiss Alex's shoulder, the first bit of him he can reach. “Why don't I shower while you finish up, love? I'll just be a minute.”

Alex nods. He doesn't bother directing Miles to the bathroom or fetching him a towel, like a good host. Really he doesn't need to. Miles has been in their flat a handful of times already. But it's not until he's stood in the bathroom, amidst color-coordinated towels and rugs and fancy soaps, with makeup spilled on the counter and girly hair products in the cabinets that it hits him just how much of this flat, of the things in it, belong to her. That pesky word pops into his head again- _ours_. This flat very much belongs to the two of them, Alex and Alexa, and Miles rather suddenly feels like an intruder.

Doing this here was a bad idea. It's one thing to fool around at Miles' flat but to come into Alexa's home, into what's supposed to be hers and Alex's alone, and help Alex cheat on her... It was wrong. Miles makes a mental note to never, ever do it again. Not even if he's drunk and desperate.

He showers and towels off quickly. He's not sure where his clothes have got to, if they're still strewn about the flat or if Alex has already collected them. He pulls on his boxers to go in search but no sooner has he stepped foot out of the bathroom that he's drawn up short by the distinct sound of _two_ voices emanating from the kitchen.

There's only one person it could possibly be but a part of Miles still hopes, in vain, that it isn't her. Alex said she'd be gone until late, didn't he? And here it is, not even noon yet.

Of course it's her, though. He can hear her, “We finished early, thought I'd come home and spend the day with you.”

And Alex, “I... weren't expecting you until later...”

When Miles rounds the corner their conversation abruptly cuts off as they turn to look at him. Evidently she's just arrived, she's still got her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. She looks surprised to see him.

“Er, Miles borrowed the guest room last night,” Alex haltingly explains. “We were at the pub, it were easier for him to crash here.”

There's a pause. Alex and Miles are practically holding their breath, waiting to see her reaction. She couldn't possibly be oblivious to the tension, the awkwardness, in the air, but all she says is, “...Alright. Good to see you, Miles.” She even smiles. Right up until her eyes catch on the bloody great hickey Miles knows he has. Her smile fades but doesn't disappear as she asks, “Did you have company?”

“It's old,” Miles explains, reaching to touch it on instinct. “From, er. Couple days ago.”

Alexa accepts the lie with a nod. There's no way it could be mistaken for anything but very, very recent but maybe she wants to believe so badly she's willing to overlook it. Or maybe she simply knows she can't prove otherwise.

“Well,” she says, smiling again. “I'll just go put my things away and we can all have breakfast, yeah?”

“Actually I were just getting ready to go,” Miles says. “There's a... band thing...”

Alexa turns to Alex. “So it'll just be us,” she concludes with a grin. She gazes at him with such adoration. Miles feels sick. He has to look away as she pulls Alex into a kiss. Can she taste Miles on him? Does Alex still smell like sex? Miles has never let himself think before about everything Alex must do to hide what they get up to, the lies he must tell. He doesn't want to think about it now. It makes him want to throw up.

Alexa disappears down the hall. Miles and Alex stand looking at each other, neither sure what needs to be said.

“Er, your clothes,” Alex mumbles, voice low. “Guest room.”

Miles nods. He goes to fetch them, dresses quickly. He leaves without saying goodbye. It's just that facing Alexa seems impossible. He's not sure why all this guilt is rearing it's head _now_ when in the past he's been able to shove it to the side, to ignore it, but it feels poised to crush him. Perhaps it's what they did last night, or maybe where they did it. Maybe it's seeing the way Alexa looks at Alex, maybe it's seeing the life they've built together in that flat. Miles had been so happy this morning, alone with Alex. Alexa's arrival brought all that crashing down around him. Now he just feels ill.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex calls at three in the morning the day after their disastrous run-in with Alexa. Miles is laying in bed but he's awake. Wide awake. He's always been a night owl and, on top of that, his mind is racing. He can't quiet it long enough to doze off. It's not, unfortunately, an uncommon problem for him.

He answers the call halfway through the first ring with a curt, “Alex.”

“Miles, hi,” Alex breathes, sounding relieved. Like maybe he was worried Miles wouldn't pick up. He keeps his voice low as he goes on. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“Oh, good.” There's an awkward pause. “I, er. Had to wait on Alexa to fall asleep... I wanted to call straight away after you left but...”

“But your girlfriend comes first, I get it.”

“No, don't be an arse. I just, you know... She were already suspicious, after this morning. I could tell. She kept asking about you and what we got up to together and she wanted to know if you were bloody seeing anyone.” Another pause. Miles can picture Alex all too well. He's probably standing outside in his pj's having a smoke, shifting nervously from foot to foot as he thinks what to say. Maybe he throws the occasional glance over his shoulder, watching for anyone who might overhear. “I never should've told her all that shit about us- about me, about the dumb fucking crush I had on you. She's looked at you different ever since.”

“With good reason,” Miles points out. “You are, in fact, cheating on her with me.”

“Well...” Alex fumbles. “You're not wrong. But I'm not the only guilty party here, am I?”

Miles closes his eyes. God, what a fool he'd been to think he could go on and never let the guilt touch him. It's caught up with him now. Paris he can excuse. Paris was a dream. Paris, in his mind, he can justify. He didn't know about their silly rules, after all. But everything since then? It weighs heavy on his conscience. He can't stop remembering the way Alexa looked at Alex, with true love shining in her eyes. What would she do if she knew Miles had been pretending to himself all this time that Alex was his? What would she do if she knew Alex had been playing along?

“No, you're not,” Miles sighs.

“Miles,” Alex says, his voice losing it's defensive edge and instead going soft. “In Paris you said no matter what. Just the other day you promised me...”

“Don't do that, Al. Don't use me own words against me. I meant what I said but- but don't fucking use it as _blackmail_.”

“I didn't mean-”

“Well that's what it bloody sounds like. I love you, I do, but...”

The pause, this time, is laden with sadness. They both know what Miles is going to say, what has to be done. Alex wouldn't be trying to prevent it if he didn't already know. Still, he prompts Miles to go on anyway, voice an unsteady whisper. “But...?”

“Why don't you come over tomorrow, Al?”

Alex is clearly surprised by this turn of events. “What?”

“Serious shit is supposed to be talked about in person, right? I don't want to do this over the phone.”

“...Alright...”

“Just- come over. Please?”

“Okay, I'll just- Lex is having lunch with someone tomorrow. I'll pop round then, yeah?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Having Alex over is probably a bad idea. Miles is so weak for him. But he can't stand having this conversation and not being able to see Alex's face, either. And, not that he'd ever admit it to it, but he's keen to buy himself some time. And now he's bought himself a few hours, at least.

Alex whispers an _I love you_ into the phone before he hangs up. Miles falls asleep replaying the sound of it in his head, wondering at the extent of the truth behind it.

-

To Miles' surprise, Alex doesn't even try to play it cool. He's already on edge when Miles lets him in. Miles can almost _see_ the nervous energy coming off him.

He doesn't even bother with a greeting. He fists his hands in Miles' shirt and draws him into a desperate kiss. Miles lets him, pours his own passion into it to match Alex's. They stumble backwards until the backs of Miles' knees hit the arm of the couch and he falls onto it, bringing Alex with him. Alex winds up straddling him, their faces mere inches away from each other, but as frenzied as their kiss had been neither of them has much inclination to take it further. Not now. This isn't about that.

Alex kisses him again, close-lipped. Innocent. He rests his head on Miles' chest.

“Alex,” Miles says, but Alex is quick to shush him.

“In a minute,” he insists.

Miles sighs, giving in. He wraps his arms around Alex and holds him close, soaking in his warmth. If it could just be like this all the time without all the guilt and secrecy to go along with it Miles would be perfectly content. He's got a history of being an outrageous flirt, a one-night-stand kind of guy, but he wasn't lying when he said he'd give up everyone else in a heartbeat for Alex. He's never felt this way about anyone before. He's never felt so _happy_ just being near to someone.

If only he'd realized all this before Alex met Alexa. Then maybe...

No use wondering at the what-if's, though. Miles keeps catching himself at it, thinking _if I'd just done this_ or _if only this were different_. The sad truth is that what he and Alex have done is wrong. Hurtful. And Miles might be willing to give up the world for Alex, but he's not willing to hurt Alexa, and he's not willing to be a knowing participant in an affair. He'd thought he could do it and live with himself but... he can't. His guilt is eating him alive. It takes all the joy out of being with Alex.

Miles pets at Alex's hair. “You know we can't keep doing this, don't you?”

Alex sits up to meet Miles' eye again. He's inscrutable. “You're going to make me choose?”

“No. There's no choice to make. You're with Alexa. You love her. I'm giving you up.”

Alex shakes his head. His lips are a thin, unsmiling line. “You don't have to do that.”

“I do. Before she discovers us and it all goes to hell.”

“Just... give me time, Miles, _please_.”

Miles opens his mouth to ask what, exactly, Alex means by that, but he's interrupted by his ringing mobile. It lies within reach on the coffee table. Miles picks it up and glances at the caller ID, intent on ignoring it, but the name displayed there stops him short. With a wary glance at Alex he answers. “'lo?”

“Miles?”

“What can I do for you, Lex?”

At the mention of her name Alex raises a wondering brow. Alexa asks, “Alex left his phone at home, is he there with you?” Her voice sounds strangely brittle, her tone devoid of much life.

Miles hesitates. “Yes,” he admits, wary.

Alexa laughs once, an ugly sound. “I thought he might be,” she says. Her voice breaks at the very end. “Why don't you send him home? Tell him we need to talk about Paris.”

She hangs up before Miles can reply. His heart is beating about a thousand times faster than it was just a moment ago. He sets his phone down and looks at Alex with wide eyes. “She knows,” he says simply, as sure of it as he's ever been of anything. “She fucking knows.”

For a moment Alex is frozen above him. He looks like he's just been blindsided. He blinks. “What? What did she say?”

“She wants to talk about Paris.”

There's a pause wherein Miles can see Alex wracking his brain, wondering if there's possibly any other meaning that could be attributed to her words. Evidently he comes up empty handed. “ _Fuck_. How?”

“Hell if I know.”

Alex jumps up off the couch. “I- I've gotta go. I'll sort this out.” 

He says it with about zero confidence. Miles watches him go with a heavy heart. He was trying to do the right thing and now the effort seems wasted. She's found out anyway.

-

With nothing to do but wait for word of the fallout, Miles spends the next twenty-four hours trying to distract himself with telly, the internet, and sleep. None of which work very well. At one point he resorts to _cleaning_ , god forbid, but with his favorite record on it's not such a chore and by the end of it he does feel a little better. A little more clear-headed.

It's sometime in the afternoon when Alex turns up again. Miles had been expecting a phone call, if anything, so opening the door to find Alex on his stoop is a surprise. He's not quite sure if it's a pleasant one. Alex's expression is hard to read. He doesn't look _devastated_ , though, so maybe it's not as bad as Miles feared.

Alex invites himself in. He gently pushes past Miles and into the foyer. He seems as anxious as he had yesterday. Fidgety. He's been biting his lip, Miles can tell. And even as he stands there he toys nervously with the hem of his coat.

“It were the picture,” he says by way of greeting.

“Picture?”

Alex wordlessly pulls his phone from his pocket. He opens it and turns it so Miles can see what's displayed there.

It's the picture they took in front of the Eiffel. The one where Alex surprised Miles with a kiss. In the picture he's got Miles by his lapels, drawing him in, while Miles' arms are wound around Alex in an embrace. They're both smiling into the kiss. The moment looks like it belongs in a movie. It's picturesque, beautiful. Miles has never wanted to go back in time so badly in his life. What he wouldn't give to relive that moment... He'd been obliviously happy, then. He still loves Alex just as much if not more than he had when that picture was taken, so much that it threatens to overwhelm him, but now it's tainted. Then it was only fear of rejection that held him back, not guilt.

Miles clears his throat, blinking back into the present moment. “She saw it?”

Alex re-pockets the phone. “I told you she were suspicious. When I left me phone at home she took the opportunity to go through it. That's what she found.”

“So she knows about Paris... and all the rest?”

Alex nods.

“What did she say?”

Alex stares down at his own feet. “That she'd forgive me if I gave you up.”

Miles sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh. Well, that's... kind of her. And, of course, I won't stand in your way- like I told you yesterday. I'll- I'll just-”

“Miles,” Alex interrupts, looking at him like he's gone mad. “I told her no.”

Miles stops. He dare not get his hopes up, but, “Why would you do that?”

Alex takes deep breath, like he's bracing himself for something. “Because I'd rather be with you.”

Miles doesn't say anything. He can't. He's not even sure this isn't a dream anymore.

Alex starts babbling nervously in the face of Miles' non-reaction. “You don't, like, _have_ to say yes if you've changed your mind or summat but- but I want to do this for real. Us, I mean. And even if you say no I won't be crawling back to her. It's not, like, an ultimatum-”

“ _You_ want to be with me?” Miles asks, just for clarification. “You chose _me_?”

Alex nods.

“But you love her.”

“I love you more,” he says, like it's that simple. “And I'd not be doing Alexa any favors if I stayed with her after realizing it.”

“What about all that shit you said? About being away from each other on tour, about having to keep it secret from the press?”

Alex actually dares a smile, perhaps emboldened by the fact that Miles hasn't tossed him out or rejected him yet. He inches forward, takes Miles' hand between two of his own. “I'm willing to put up with it if you are. All the phone calls, the texts that go unanswered for hours because we're in different time zones, the missing you, the secrecy... It'll not be all that different from me and Lex, really. It's not like we saw a lot of each other.”

“Right, but... what changed your mind?”

Alex bites his lip as he thinks. “I guess it were just... When she told me it was either you or her, that I'd have to cut you out of me life to keep her, I couldn't imagine doing it. I couldn't imagine life without you.” His cheeks have gone pink. “What a sap I am, eh? But it's true. And then I started thinking about the future, about who I'll want by my side when the Monkeys are finished, or even after that when I'm old and gray, and it weren't her.”

“How'd she take it?”

“There were tears. She told me to get out. We hurt her, Miles, there's no way around that. But I still don't regret it.”

Miles can hardly believe what he's hearing. He'd all but given up on the idea that Alex might return his feelings. That Alex might actually ever be _in love_ with him. And now he's voluntarily given up his dream of a girlfriend so that they can be together.

Miles pulls Alex to him. He probably looks awestruck as he dances his fingers over the curve of Alex's cheekbone. Alex is very much real, solid beneath his touch. He blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Does this mean I can call you my boyfriend?”

Alex laughs. “You can call me whatever you like. I'm yours, as long as you'll have me.”

_As long as you'll have me_. That pesky insecurity again. But Miles is willing to put in the time and effort to show Alex that he's got nothing to fear on that front. Starting now.

“You're incredible,” Miles tells him, ducking down to plant a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “And I love you.”

Alex has never looked so radiant, so gorgeous, as he smiles up at Miles. And the words that fall from his lips sounds like heaven. “I love you, too.”

It won't be easy, Miles knows that. There's still the guilt of what they put Alexa through hanging over their heads, and it's always hard to keep a relationship going when both partners are touring the world, constantly away from each other. Then there's the press, and the perpetual rumors about Alex with some woman or other, and Miles will probably spend many a night wondering how much truth there is to them, but right now... It's good. It's just _good_.

They've got an album coming out soon and they'll be together for all the promo to do with it. And then, who knows? Maybe they'll go on tour _together_.

They've got time to build up a trust between them and Miles is willing to work at it. He's willing to do anything to keep Alex.

Miles kisses him again. “Mine,” he declares.

“Yours,” Alex agrees, laughing. He's never sounded happier.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.dontcareajot.tumblr.com)! Come say hi!


End file.
